Three Thousand Days of Innocence
by cinnamon badge
Summary: DracoGinny Draco Malfoy wasn't guilty of anything until no one could find him after the last battle... and to the Aurors, his absence spoke volumes about his culpability.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Prologue**

There was, perhaps, nothing more uncomfortable than being on the losing side of a war and living to tell the tale.

Draco Malfoy looked around the Great Hall yet again, at the families reuniting and mourning their dead, at the glorious victors celebrating and tending to their wounds and looking about to collapse with exhaustion -- and waited for the other shoe to drop. He and his parents were just _sitting there_ -- his father was still in his Death Eater cloak, no less! -- and no one had approached them to arrest them. They weren't even made to feel unwelcome. They were simply like the Muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron: there, but overlooked.

His mother, ever the unflappable hostess, tried desperately to pretend that nothing had happened. "Draco darling, I do hope you've been keeping up with your studies, despite the upheaval of the previous year," she said, in her soothing, cool voice. "I assume that the N.E.W.T.s will be given later on, and I want you to be prepared if they are."

"Let it rest, Narcissa," Lucius said, putting a hand over hers on the flat table; his eyes never stopped scanning the crowds, as though he expected one of the numerous Aurors present to jump up and arrest him. "We shall have Madam Pomfrey look over our injuries, and then we return to Wiltshire at once. Draco's education is secondary to other matters at the moment."

"Draco's education is second to nothing," Narcissa said, her voice still calm despite her argumentative words. Her blue eyes flashed with suppressed impatience. "You know as much as I do --"

Draco couldn't bear to listen to them talk that way, as though they still knew exactly where they stood in the Wizarding community, and knew what would happen next. "Mother," he interrupted, "if we're going to go soon I'd better go to my room and pack my trunk. I want to be ready."

"Of course, darling," she said, inclining her head. "Do make sure you've not forgotten anything."

"I will, Mother."

Relieved, Draco stood up from the Slytherin table and made his way between the tables until he'd reached the doors of the Great Hall and come to the main entrance hall. The dull roar of sound from the survivors cut off as soon as the heavy oak door banged shut behind him.

Draco released a massive sigh. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He didn't know how it should have been -- he certainly hadn't been keen on the idea of the Dark Lord winning, as he hadn't wanted to spend his life in servitude to that hideous thing -- but he knew that this wasn't it. It couldn't be. After everything his family had suffered, after all the sacrifices they'd made for a man who had made grandiose promises and failed to deliver on them all -- what then? What was he supposed to do? What was to become of him?

He scrubbed away the tear that betrayed his helplessness, and started towards the Slytherin dungeons. For now, he would pack his belongings and leave Hogwarts behind, perhaps forever. Tomorrow was tomorrow, and he would worry about the future when he was good and ready to.

* * *

Lucius pulled a pocket watch out of his waistcoat for the third time. The minute hand had only moved slightly since he had last checked it. "He must have run into one of the other Slytherins," he said idly. "You know how chatty he is sometimes."

"I want to go look for him, Lucius," Narcissa said, not hiding her anxiety. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the sleeve of his robes. "It's been nearly an hour, he cannot have so much to pack --"

"He's fine," Lucius insisted, but Narcissa stood and left the Great Hall without uttering another word. Muttering under his breath, he quickly followed after, and he felt the eyes of every person in the Hall on their backs as they hastened away.

"It's been so long since I last visited these dorms," she said, as they descended lower and lower into the bowels of the castle. "But -- ah yes, there it is."

They found easily the suit of armor that guarded the entrance to the Slytherin common room and dorms, and gave it their last name -- "The Most Respected and Feared House of Malfoy" -- before darting into the dark, narrow passageway which widened into the common room. A neglected fire flickered in the open grate, but not a soul occupied the leather chairs around it. In fact, the entire wing was perfectly still, as though completely vacant.

Lucius went ahead and found the Seventh Year Boys' dorm, and a cursory examination revealed that the room was empty. Draco's trunk sat gaping open at the foot of a rumpled bed, untouched. "He never made it to his room," Lucius said to Narcissa when he returned to her side. "Wait at the entrance in case he eventually comes, and I will search the castle."

"Bring back our son," she breathed, and, squeezing his hand one last time, they separated at the armor and went their own ways.

He encountered many on his harried tour of Hogwarts, but none had Draco's distinctive head of ash blond hair; some made disparaging comments about his family but Lucius simply swept past, an imposing figure in his black death cloak and robes. He had one mission now, only one thought in his mind: to find his son, his only son, so recently returned to them and now missing.

But no one had seen him. When Lucius lowered himself to ask, of students and professors and ghosts, if they had seen his son, they all answered in the negative. One or two said they thought they had seen him headed for the main entrance and the double doors that led out to the grounds, but that was absurd: why would Draco run away? He had to be here, somewhere.

After a futile hour's search, however, Lucius was ready to believe anything.

He went to Narcissa, still standing guard over the Slytherin common room entrance, and they both raced outside, to where the late battlefield lay sprinkled with dew in the pale gray early morning. Narcissa called for him, repeating his name over and over, and Lucius's heart sank as he saw a faint trail through the damp grass, winding this way and that in a dizzy pattern until it simply vanished some hundred yards from the school's front doors.

"Where can he have gone, Lucius?" Narcissa cried, half-hysterical at the prospect of having lost Draco again. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," he said, and the words tasted bitter in his mouth. "Merlin, Cissy. I -- I don't --"

"Draco!" Narcissa screamed, her voice breaking slightly. The wind carried her voice on its back as she spun in all directions, seeking him at the lake, or the Whomping Willow, or the Forbidden Forest. "Please, Draco!"

"Draco!" Lucius shouted, looking all around the school grounds.

"Darling, where are you? _Draco!"_

Their son was gone.


	2. The Same Old Song

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter One -- The Same Old Song**

Ginny Weasley was determined that, one day, she would arrive to work on time for her department's weekly debriefing.

Unfortunately, that day was not today.

It had started almost as soon as she'd arisen, to find that she hadn't been woken by her clock radio playing the latest Icarus and the Wings hit (some daft trance song called "The Minotaur Mix" that made her head hurt) but instead the sound of her neighbors having loud and raucous sex next door. That could only mean that she'd overslept by almost forty-five minutes, and nothing was going to keep her from being horrendously late for a weekly meeting whose start time never varied.

And of course, the fact that the utter cow next door was getting some and she wasn't was just adding insult to injury.

Then, after the fiasco that was her trying to shampoo her hair and brush her teeth at the same time, she found that she'd eaten the very last of the Weetabix the morning before without noticing -- so there went her quick breakfast. Settling for a stale, dry bran muffin left over from who knew when, Ginny hastily shoved the rest of her paperwork into her bag and stumbled out the door, just as the Cow Next Door banged something on the wall dividing their flats and screamed in ecstasy.

Bloody cow.

She met Percy coming in as they both entered the public toilets that were the employee entrance to the Ministry of Magic. "You need a new alarm clock," he said pompously, as she rolled her eyes and went to stand in the stall beside his.

"You need a partner," she shot back, just before she'd flushed herself into the Entrance Hall of the Ministry.

"You wound me," Percy said dramatically, though he winked and smiled at her as they both stepped into the lift. "Mum's having everyone over for dinner Saturday night and she asked me to extend the invitation."

"Will Harry be there?" Ginny asked, keeping her eye on the floors they passed.

"Yes, but --"

"Then tell her I can't go because _darling_ Harry's assigned me to tail someone that night, and I'll be on duty until midnight at the earliest."

Percy whistled low. "Who would've thought that the Boy Who Lived Twice would be such a sore loser?"

"I could've told you that years ago," Ginny grumbled, as the lift at last reached her floor and she bid her brother farewell. He waved as the metal grille clinked shut behind her.

The Auror department was not nearly as frantic or busy as it had been during the peak years of the second war against Tom Riddle, but that did not mean that there was not plenty of work to do. This morning, the room where the lower division's cubicles were arranged was empty, for they were all in the meeting that Ginny should have joined at least twenty minutes ago. Ginny blundered her way through the maze of desks, dumped her bag at her own cramped workspace, and hurtled through the conference room door in a way that would have made dear Tonks grin with pride.

Harry looked up from his meeting notes, eyes flat behind his glasses. "Thanks for joining us, Weasley," he said, then went right back to his debriefing. Ron, at Harry's right, gave her an exasperated stare that Ginny matched, plunking down in her seat at the end of the table.

The whole last name business with Harry had begun almost immediately after Ginny ended things with Harry roughly one year earlier. Joining it had been the We Don't Live Together Anymore So I Don't Have To Treat You Well method, and the You Won't See Things My Way So You Get All the Crappy Assignments approach. Any hopes Ginny had had of their breakup being quiet and simple had been ruined long ago, because Harry was about as subtle and empathetic as a Falcons Qudditch match.

And nearly everyone was on his side of the issue as well, which was the last nail in the coffin.

"Congratulations go out to O'Connell, Johnson, and Vane for last week's successful apprehension of Yaxley," Harry said, sounding bored. Weak applause scattered through the assembled Aurors, and Ginny saw the annoyed look on Harry's face strengthen -- he obviously wished he'd been the one to capture the Death Eater, as the mission had been a massive success for the Ministry and garnered tremendous attention from the press and public. "I've spoken with Hermione, and Yaxley's trial date is set for later in the month," Harry went on. "It's really only a formality, though. He'll probably get a life sentence."

"Deserves nothing less," Ron said darkly, and Harry shot him a sideways smile.

"Right. Then we have the rest of our list of outstanding warrants for arrest," Harry said, shuffling some parchments aside. "Any news at all on that front?"

"Travers might have been spotted in a tour group at Inchmahome Priory last week," Romilda Vane said, her dark eyes intent on Harry's. "He was alone and attempting to blend in with Muggles in the group." She snorted. "The key word there being 'attempting'."

Harry chuckled as he made a note on his list, which was covered with scrawled notes and heavily scratched out names. He had first assembled the list of Death Eaters and other fugitives from the war soon after finishing his Auror training, and five years later there were only a few names left. "Right, I'll have you and Dawlish head up to Scotland to check that out. Report back immediately if he's spotted again." Harry scrolled down the rest of the list with his finger, lower lip between his teeth. "That leaves only Rabastan Lestrange and Draco Malfoy." He raised his eyes from the parchment to look at them all. "Honestly, no one's heard a _thing_ about Malfoy?"

"Not a word anywhere," Chambers said.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Read to me again the report on him?"

Chambers turned to Ginny, who abruptly realised that she was the one who had all the information on low-priority cases. She sorted through her untidy stack of files until she found the one labelled _Malfoy, Draco_ and opened it. "The last person to see him, as far as we can tell, was Nearly Headless Nick," Ginny began, reading over someone's barely-legible notes, "at Hogwarts the morning after the final battle. Nick reported that he saw Malfoy leave the Great Hall and start towards the Slytherin dungeons, when he stopped, looked around, then made his way towards the main castle doors. That was eight years ago, and no one has had contact with or seen him since then."

"Mm, that's not quite accurate," Romilda butted in, arching one eyebrow. "Someone saw a young man of a similar description in Florence about six years ago, but when we went to investigate we didn't find any trace of him."

"Then if we're being thorough, he was also supposedly sighted in Milan and Paris," Ginny said a little sharply, wishing she'd eaten something more substantial than a stale muffin. "We have no idea if it was him, because the sightings were never confirmed. Pale blonde hair is not a trait unique to the Malfoy family."

"It does stand out in a crowd," Romilda said, studying her fingernails.

"But Malfoy doesn't merit active investigation in the first place," Angelina spoke up, before Ginny could say something she would regret. "What's he wanted for, anyway? Suspected involvement in an assault that he probably had nothing to do with? Who cares about that when wizards like Travers and Lestrange are still out there?"

"We care because he disappeared, and it's highly suspicious," Harry said, looking up again. "He ran away from his family and friends. Cut off all contact with everyone he ever knew. Innocent people just don't do that." He gathered all his parchments together and straightened them compulsively. "But Angie's right, we don't need to concentrate on Malfoy. Rabastan Lestrange, however..."

When the debriefing concluded some twenty minutes later, and everyone had filed out of the conference room to return to their desks, Harry stopped Ginny before she had taken a few steps. "Gin, I'm sorry I was so blunt earlier," he said, not quite meeting her eyes. "You're just always late for the debriefings, and --"

"You had every right, Harry," she said, clutching her case files to her chest. "It's this alarm clock I'm using, it doesn't wake me as easily as my old one did."

"You mean _my _alarm clock," he corrected, looking positively triumphant. "Maybe you should --"

"I'm not moving back in just so I can wake up for work on time," she huffed; then, excusing herself, she went around him and out to her workspace.

Ron was perched on the edge of her desk when she left the conference room. "Why were you late this morning?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"The Weird Sisters were being interviewed on WWN, I couldn't miss it."

Ron's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "What? Gin, can't you --"

"I overslept, all right?" Ginny dug a hair tie out of her top drawer and pulled her mess of curls back. "I woke to the sound of someone having their brains shagged out, and the day just went downhill from there."

Her brother's eyes darted towards the ajar door of Harry's office, then back to hers as he leaned in. "Gin," he pleaded, "can't you even try to hear him out? Give him another chance? Try to be civil to him, at least? He's my best mate --"

"And you're my brother," Ginny finished, "and it's been a _year_, and I've got work to do. Was there something you needed?"

Ron's face fell, and he stood quickly. "Yeah, er -- follow up paperwork for that wizard using experimental Dark curses we caught yesterday. On my desk by tonight, so I can send it off to Hermione and not have to sleep on the sofa."

"Sure thing," Ginny said. For his trouble she offered him a small smile that he returned, before ruffling her hair and heading to his own private office across the room from Harry's.

Throughout the rest of the morning, Aurors were going in and out of the department, responding to calls from the higher ups in Law Enforcement, investigating reports, interviewing witnesses. Ginny sighed as she watched them parade through in their distinctive scarlet uniforms, especially Romilda Vane, who knew exactly how gorgeous she looked in her well-fitted robes. For Ginny, there was no mission that needed her attention, no people to question -- only stacks of paperwork and forms for everyone else.

Ginny was pretty sure now, after having been an Auror for five years, that she loathed her job. Even before she'd split with Harry and had been getting lucrative assignments left and right, there had been no enthusiasm for what she did, no joy in a job well done at the end of the day. When she'd finished her seventh year studies at Hogwarts, giddy with love for Harry and excited about having him back, she had followed him without reservations into the Auror Training Program when he decided that that was what he wanted to do. It seemed like the perfect plan: they would get to be together all the time, and develop their blossoming romance. She had been so naively blinded by her feelings for him that she hadn't even realised that it was only _his_ dream to be an Auror -- not hers.

What she really wanted to do was tryout for a Quidditch team, either national or local; anything would do. Oliver Wood had had a malicious stalker three years ago, so he had been in the Auror department all the time with status reports and potential leads. He would stop by her desk each visit, and just talk about the league and players. Sadly, that had been the highlight of her days -- and the fact that Wood had been _Witch Weekly_'s Most Eligible Bachelor four years running had been a perk, of course.

Lunch didn't come soon enough. The moment the wall clock chimed noon, Ginny was out of her seat and headed to the Ministry cafeteria for her regular lunch date with Percy. He was waiting for her at their customary table, near one of the fake windows that offered them a spectacular panorama of the city.

"Harry didn't yell at you, did he?" Percy said right away, as they sat down with their Ploughman's lunches.

Ginny chuckled. "Mum would box his ears if he did, you know that," she replied. "No, he sort of snapped at me then apologised for it. Still trying to get back in my knickers."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Relationships are based on much more than just copulation," he said primly. "It's necessary to have a foundation of trust, and mutual respect, and --"

"And if you finish that sentence this is heading for your face," Ginny finished, one hand threateningly on the cup of chutney on her plate. "It's enough that Ron and Hermione are at me week in and week out trying to get us back together, as if caring for Hugo and Rose wasn't enough of a chore."

"Right, sorry," Percy said. "I should talk, anyway. Like things really worked out for me and Penny. Mutual respect my arse."

Ginny smiled sadly. "Oh, I wish Fred was here to listen to you say 'arse'. He'd be so proud."

"He didn't even think I knew that word," Percy agreed. "He'd be surprised at my vocabulary."

"You mean like 'copulation'? I think most people just call it --"

"Don't be crass," Percy said, lifting his nose in the air. "I don't want to lose my lunch thinking about my little sister fornicating."

"How many times have you read the dictionary again?"

"Shut up and eat your lunch."


	3. In the Serpent's Lair

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Two -- In the Serpent's Lair**

Ginny was called into Harry's office a few days later. That in itself should have made her suspicious, for Harry loved to pretend that he didn't know her when they were at work in front of others. But there it was, his summons in the folds of a bright purple paper airplane, asking if she would take time out to stop by and see him before she went home for the evening.

Curiousity got the best of her, so she did, bringing along her bag and tying her cloak about her shoulders. "What's up, Harry?" she said, standing in the doorway of his cramped office. Behind her, she could hear Angelina and Chambers laughing about something Chambers had said as they left for the night.

"Have a seat," he said, waving to the chintz armchair on the other side of his desk. Ginny did, now even more curious than before at the formality of the visit. Harry frowned down at a slightly furled scroll on his desk, before meeting her eyes again. "Look, before I start, I don't even know why I'm doing this. It's completely against department policy, let alone Ministry protocol --"

"Maybe you should tell me what it is, and I can let you know if I agree," Ginny prompted. Really, Harry did like to go on sometimes.

"Right." He pushed the scroll across the desk towards her. "That's an owl I received earlier today from Narcissa Malfoy," he explained, as Ginny picked up the parchment and skimmed over its contents. "She's asked to have the Auror in charge of Draco's case take tea with her at Malfoy Manor. To talk about him and what we know."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "That's _incredibly_ against our policy --"

"I know, but I spoke with some people in the Minister's support staff, and they told me that Lucius Malfoy is poised to make a massive donation. I hate it too," he said quickly, when Ginny looked about to protest, "don't get me wrong, there's nothing I despise more than cronyism -- but I think it's for the best. Malfoy's case is cold, Ginny. No one has seen him, no one knows what happened to him... He might be dead, for all we know. You can take this opportunity to tell them that Draco is not going to be found unless he walks right up and announces himself."

Ginny had been nodding along with Harry's words, but ground to a halt at that last. "Wait -- _I'm_ the one going to Malfoy Manor?" she cried.

He shrugged. "You're the lead Auror on his case. You know more about it than anyone else. You're the witch for the job."

"But the Malfoys loathe us," Ginny blurted out.

Harry grinned humourlessly. "Narcissa was perfectly civil in her letter, and I'm not taking no for an answer. Don't make me play the 'I'm your boss' card."

"Oh, bother," Ginny muttered, staring darkly at Narcissa Malfoy's pristine copperplate script. "Fine. Are you going to excuse me so I can go play tea party, then?"

"Tomorrow, yes. Don't forget you're still tailing that wizard on Saturday for us."

"Of course, Harry. Have fun at Mum and Dad's." She stuffed Narcissa's invitation into her bag and headed for home.

All that evening, and for most of the following morning, Ginny contemplated what had changed with the Malfoys' situation. They had brought Draco's disappearance to the Ministry's attention as soon as it had issued a subpoena for him to be brought in for questioning -- eight years ago. Merlin, had it been that long already since Harry had defeated Tom Riddle? The Ministry had then promised the Malfoys to make them aware of any developments in the case, and for awhile there had been some hope of finding him merely because of the possibilities available. Draco had had many friends and a substantial extended family on his father's side, and Sturgis Podmore, the Auror who had shuffled around to all of these associates, had left behind copious notes about each and every interview. No, they hadn't seen Draco since Tom Riddle had been killed. No, he hadn't contacted them for money or a place to stay. No, they had no idea why he would leave without warning.

The Malfoys had to know that there was no news. Draco's mysterious flight from the Wizarding world had made headlines for months after Tom Riddle's fall, for he was the easiest target of all those who had survived the battle. Rita Skeeter in particular had found great delight in wondering where the Malfoy heir was and what he was up to. Her weekly column, restored after the resounding success of her Dumbledore biography, had become one of the most popular sections of the _Daily Prophet_, solely because of the Malfoy story. All of those articles had been clipped and included in his file, and Ginny looked over them idly at her desk, when there was a lull in the paperwork.

Finally, at about half past three, she ducked her head into Harry's office to let him know she was leaving, then headed up to the Ministry foyer to Floo back to her flat in Holborn to spruce up. Since she was going to Malfoy Manor on official business, Ginny pulled out her dress uniform to wear, and made sure her hair was kept under control for once. She had had Luna Lovegood -- now Scamander -- run over the proper protocol for society teas with her the night before, as she was woefully out of practice, and with her appearance marginally improved, Ginny felt that she was ready to enter the enemy territory.

Narcissa's invitation had included coordinates, so, double-checking them, Ginny Disapparated and found herself in a long dirt lane bordered on one side with high hedges. As it was summer, they were verdant and full of life, and a warm breeze carried the rich scent of grass and flowers and earth towards her. Ginny, breathing in the countryside deeply, started down the lane, towards the imposing wrought iron gates that loomed ahead of her.

"Ginny Weasley," she announced to the gate, feeling a bit foolish since no one was in sight. "Er -- here for tea with --"

The gates glowed green briefly. Then nothing. Ginny, frowning, started towards them and with a shock found herself walking _through_ them, as though they were no more substantial than smoke. Shivering slightly despite the bright sunshine, Ginny went on, gaping at the albino peacock in the front garden that stared at her with oddly intelligent eyes as she made her way to the front door.

A tiny house elf greeted her and ushered her to a spare, elegant parlor on the ground floor. The furniture was all upholstered in pale green, and a high ceiling extended above her that made her realise that she was truly in the presence of money. Narcissa was already there, seated in a wing chair, as still as someone sitting for a portrait, her long blonde hair falling down her back without the slightest hint of a curl. She rose when Ginny entered, and extended one slender arm.

"Miss Weasley," she said cordially, as Ginny shook the proffered hand. "How excellent of you to come."

"Er -- thank you for the invitation," Ginny said, blushing.

"Won't you have tea with me?" Narcissa waved her hand at the little table between two Queen Anne chairs, and Ginny saw a full tea service awaiting them.

"That'd be lovely, Mrs. Malfoy," she said, and she and Narcissa took their seats.

"I know this is highly unorthodox for the Auror department," Narcissa began quietly, once they were both set up with tea and biscuits. "Do not think that I don't appreciate the simple fact that you have come."

"Mrs. Malfoy, I'm actually very confused as to why I'm here," Ginny blurted out. _Might as well get into it_, she thought. "You know that the Ministry promised to pass on any leads we had concerning his whereabouts. We've had none."

"I'm well aware of the state of Draco's case," Narcissa murmured.

"Then you'll agree with me that it would be best to close it and let it rest," Ginny said, leaning forward. "Mrs. Malfoy, he -- he might not even be alive."

A shudder went through the older witch's body, but a carefully contained one, like everything else about her. "So I was right," she said. "The Ministry has given up."

"Everything has been a dead end," Ginny confirmed.

"Miss Weasley --" Narcissa gave a quiet, breathy laugh. "You must understand something. Draco is my child. My only child. And there is nothing I want more than to hold him in my arms again, for he will always be my little boy, no matter how old he grows.

"He would be twenty-six years old today," she said. Ginny started in surprise. "I have missed so much of his life. I cannot bear -- I --" Narcissa bent her head and pressed her fingers to her lips until her knuckles were white, but not a single tear fell from her dry eyes. "If I told you that I know he's still alive," she whispered hoarsely, "would that reopen the case? Would it be enough?"

Today was certainly the day for surprises. "You know for a fact?" Ginny said warily. "How --"

"Come with me." Narcissa stood abruptly and headed out of the room. It was all Ginny could do to catch up, then follow her through long, plain corridors until they reached a wide, airy gallery, filled to the rafters with portraits of nearly identical blonde men and women. Some of them gave Ginny a curious look when she entered their field of vision; most simply continued grooming themselves or sleeping away. Oddly, an empty frame hung at the very bottom of the right-hand wall.

"The Malfoys," Narcissa said, gesturing to the portraits. "From time immemorial, everyone in the Malfoy family tree has been granted a portrait in this gallery. You are familiar with the enchantments in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts?"

"No," Ginny admitted.

"Once each headmaster passes on, his portrait is automatically added to the wall behind the desk," Narcissa explained. "It is much the same here. Once a Malfoy dies, his or her portrait is added to this gallery."

Ginny peered at the lowest row of portraits, noting that the dates on them were the most recent. Draco was not among them. "So... his portrait isn't here. You think that means he's alive?"

"I know it does."

"But what about that one?" Ginny pointed to the empty frame. Upon closer inspection, she realised that it did not even have a nameplate like the others. "How do you know that might not be meant for him?"

A distant smile came to Narcissa's smooth face. "That one is meant for me," she said quietly. "I am dying, Miss Weasley. That frame appeared the moment the Healer made his diagnosis, and it will someday soon bear my name upon it."

Ginny uttered a soft cry. "No!"

"I should like very much to see Draco one last time, before I die," Narcissa said. "Which is why I am going to ask the Auror department to reopen and reactivate his case. You must find my son, Miss Weasley."

Ginny swallowed uncomfortably. "He's been spotted in France and Italy," she breathed. "But --"

"He will come home," Narcissa said, nodding slightly, as though the matter were decided and done with. "He always does. He belongs here in Wiltshire, it is in his blood."

"If he's found, he'll be tried for evasion as well as assault," Ginny said, desperately wishing she could look away from Narcissa Malfoy's haunted eyes. "It won't be quite the homecoming you imagine."

"But he'll be home," Narcissa said. "That's all that matters to us, Lucius and I. We want our little boy back, Miss Weasley. You are just the witch to find him."

The rest of Ginny's halfhearted protests died on her lips, as she followed the older witch back down the corridor and into the foyer. "It was pleasant taking tea with you, Miss Weasley," she said formally, and with a wave of her hand a small elf appeared to open the front door. "I hope that the next time we meet, you will be the bearer of good news."

"Good day, Mrs. Malfoy," Ginny said softly, shaking her hand again. She turned and left the manor, and heard the heavy oaken door clang shut behind her.

In the space of barely an hour, Ginny knew that Narcissa had managed to completely change her mind. She had not been on the case before when Draco had first disappeared -- that had been Sturgis Podmore and Hestia Jones, who had both since been assigned to other cases -- and had therefore not seen Narcissa Malfoy up close since that terrible evening: when Draco had vanished, when Tonks and Lupin had been killed -- when Fred lost his life.

And that was why Ginny knew she had to take this case, see it through to its completion. Because of Fred. Molly had had that very same look in her eyes for the first few years after his loss: utter devastation, helplessness, fathomless sorrow. Parents weren't meant to outlive their own children, and Fred's death had cut right to Molly's core, just as Ginny could see that Draco's absence was eating away at his mother.

Ginny would find Draco. She swore now, in the dying sunlight that painted Wiltshire in stunning shades of red and gold -- she swore that before Narcissa died, she would see her son again.


	4. The Lap of the Gods

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Three -- The Lap of the Gods**

The rest of the Auror department was shocked at the change that came over Ginny Weasley in the following weeks. Gone was the witch who stumbled in late and complained about her assignments and openly antagonised the head of the department -- no, now she had completely withdrawn herself from the others, preferring to spend the majority of her days pouring over Draco Malfoy's case file and leaving frequently with the excuse that she was going to survey the places where he had reportedly been spotted. No one believed her until she came back one Monday bright red with a vicious sunburn -- Ginny calmly said that the weather in Italy had been sunnier than she'd anticipated.

She had pictures of him to use now: a Wizarding photo courtesy of Blaise Zabini, which showed Draco at a social gathering when he was seventeen, haughtily bored in expensive dress clothes. With Hermione's help, Ginny had also managed to create a still version of the same photo, to use when she questioned Muggles if they had seen him.

Surprisingly, despite the amount of time that had passed, her attempts were not completely without results. The very first man she spoke to, a merchant in Milan, recognised Draco from the photo right away. "_Si, il inglese!_" he cried. "He come here to buy -- food, _molto_ _alimento_."

"How long ago was this?" Ginny asked.

The Muggle merchant's brow puckered and he shot off a curious question towards his gangly assistant, who replied after hesitating a moment or two. "Five years, six years," he said at last. "I remember him because his _italiano _was _perfetto_. Better than Stefano's." He gave his assistant an annoyed look.

Ginny made a notation in her little reporter's notebook: _speaks fluent Italian._ "Can you tell me anything else about him?" she asked.

"Mm, very sad, _il_ _inglese_," the merchant said, frowning. "No smiling. All alone here. The girls, they like him -- _il è molto bello_?" He looked hopefully up at Ginny, who blushed and nodded that she understood. Yes, if there was one thing she would grant Draco Malfoy, it was that he was very attractive. "He notice not one woman. A crime not to appreciate a good wine or a good woman!"

_Travelling alone -- unwilling separation?_, Ginny added to her notes. "_Grazie_, _signore_," she said to the merchant. "If you can think of anything else, please contact me." She gave him the number for the mobile phone Harry had encouraged her to buy, grateful for it now that she truly needed it.

The responses were much the same wherever she went in both Milan and Florence, the two cities in Italy where Draco had been spotted. Many did not remember him, for which she didn't blame them, but just as many remembered him very clearly, as the first Muggle had. Their descriptions of him were nearly uniform: _il inglese solo_ they called him, the lonely Englishman. He was never seen with anyone else, never seen speaking with anyone else; he came for a few months then disappeared, never to be heard from again. He had asked various merchants about food, others for directions to hotels, still more for news about any number of things. "_Il inglese_, he did not read the papers, I think," one said, sounding amused. "He has no knowledge of the Middle East war! He ask for news like someone who comes back from a long journey."

Ginny, who knew barely anything about the Middle East war herself, merely nodded, not considering Draco's lack of worldliness anything worth writing down. The fact that he was now interested in Muggle news, though, merited a mention in her notebook.

From there it was on to Paris, to Montmartre, where a Squib had reported seeing a tall, thin young man with ash blond hair drinking an Orangina at a street cafe some four years earlier. Here, unfortunately, Ginny learned next to nothing: the cafe owner jabbered angrily at her in rapid French until he remembered she couldn't speak a word, when he then said tersely, "I 'ave answered this question enough. I 'ave not seen him since ze last time. You buy _un café_, or you go."

The same went for the other people she visited, in Montmartre and other parts of the city. She was usually dismissed with a curt, "No, I 'ave nevair seen him before," though some grudgingly admitted that he looked familiar. One went so far as to actually talk about him, but only after Ginny had purchased a cappuccino to sip while he spoke. "_L'anglais_, he was very quiet, wrote in _un journal_," the restaurateur said. "I theenk he lived close, for he came _tous les jours_. Same theeng, every day: buy an Orangina and _un omelette_, write in _son journal_. I thought 'e was one of zoes poet types."

Ginny returned from her interviews mildly hopeful, for reasons she could not articulate even to herself. The people she had spoken to had not really said anything that hadn't been said before -- she already knew that he had been alone everywhere, and withdrawn -- and yet... She flipped through the pages of her reporter's notebook to a page near the middle.

_Interested in Muggle events._

It was the sole piece of information she had received that was completely new. She had checked and double-checked Sturgis Podmore's notes, and he had made no mention of the fact or perhaps thought it irrelevant. Ginny thought it very relevant, especially when she went into Harry's office one afternoon, several weeks after her watershed tea with Narcissa Malfoy.

"I want to make the subpoena for Draco Malfoy into a warrant for his arrest," Ginny declared boldly, before she had even seated herself.

Harry blinked at her from over the tops of his round glasses. "What? What for?"

"He's not just evading the Ministry, Harry, he's in hiding," Ginny said, presenting her notebook. "A barbershop owner in Florence told me that when he saw Draco, Draco was very interested in learning about Muggle events and news, wars and so on. He's hiding as a Muggle."

"I thought that was a given," Harry said, frowning, "considering we haven't found him in the Wizarding world."

"But don't you see? This stacks the case heavily against him. He's wanted for suspected assault now, but since he fled, since he's in _hiding _-- that seems like a rather big reaction, doesn't it, considering his past loathing of everything Muggle? Who knows what else he's guilty of?"

Harry worried his lower lip between his teeth as he looked through the rest of Ginny's notes. "Gin, you do have a point," he said slowly.

She groaned and closed her eyes. "But...?"

"But I was up on the Astronomy Tower when Malfoy could have killed Dumbledore, and he didn't." It was exactly what she'd thought; there were few stories Harry liked retelling more than the story about the night Dumbledore died. "And I was there in the Room of Requirement when we were looking for Ravenclaw's diadem. I highly doubt Malfoy did anything worse that night than try to hex someone and then run off before he could get hurt."

Ginny's eyebrows formed a V on her forehead as she frowned at him. "That's obstruction, Harry," she said quietly.

"I thought you were redoubling your efforts because of Mrs. Malfoy's dying wish, not because you wanted to see justice done?"

"It's the same thing," she said, waving her hand. "I promised a mother she would see her son again, but the son is also a criminal. I'm not going to find him and then just let him go."

Harry looked at her in surprise, and took his glasses off to polish them. "Since when did you become so gung-ho about apprehending suspects?" he asked mildly.

"Since I evidently needed to prove to you that I'm capable of tackling the higher-profile cases," Ginny said coolly, before she took back her notebook and returned to her own desk.

But she worried about her theories and how she handled the meeting later, and lamented to Percy at lunch that she didn't think her aggressive behaviour was going to help anything. "He'll just get more and more cheesed off with me," she complained, "and continue giving me awful assignments. Harry can be incredibly pigheaded."

"Harry has great respect for you, you know," Percy said. "Show him you mean business. It won't do any harm. I know you're a capable witch, I've been on the wrong end of your wand often enough."

"I suppose," she said. "I mean -- bloody hell, I didn't go through three years of intense training to apprehend mischievous teenagers with death wishes and daft old wizards who think they've lived long enough to be above the law."

Percy snorted. "How old is that? When the law stops applying to you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Somewhere between the ages of a hundred and never."

After she left the Ministry later that afternoon, to clear her head and calm down a bit, Ginny changed into Muggle clothes and headed down to St James' Park, a wide, sprawling park near Buckingham Palace. The lawn was dotted with people simply laying out in the early evening sunshine, reading or speaking to each other in private tones, or keeping an eye on small children playing a short distance away. Some had blankets, and they spread out picnic suppers to eat while someone fussed with an infant and tried to keep flies away from the food. The night was warm and somehow quiet, despite the presence of bustling rush hour traffic nearby. It was as though she had stepped into another world, another place outside of busy, crowded London.

Ginny settled down in the grass near a wide, mirror-flat pond that reflected the distant London Eye and Clock Tower in its murky depths. A group of young men were playing an aggressive game of rugby close at hand, and she watched them idly for awhile. She was content to simply look around -- at the people, the trees, the pond -- and wonder why her life had always seemed so unnecessarily rushed.

She was going to be twenty-five in a few short months, and where was she? In a job she detested, with an ex-boyfriend who wouldn't give up, no love life to speak of, and her friends stolen away by their own domestic happiness. As a girl she had dreamed of being a famous Quidditch player, and her prince charming would be one of her many adoring fans, who fell in love with her the moment he lay eyes on her. She wanted three boys, maybe a daughter, a comfortable house to fill with their possessions, and nothing but happy days and nights for the rest of her life.

Her dreams, however, were no closer to being fulfilled than she was to finding Draco Malfoy.

Ginny sighed at her melancholy thoughts and pulled out the book she had brought with her, one of the many Hermione had recommended, but still couldn't settle herself to read. Everything seemed to hinge on finding Draco. She had found herself thinking it all too often in the past few weeks: _if I find Draco, then I'll be happy with my job. If I find Draco, then I'll gain Harry's respect and he'll leave me alone. If I find Draco..._

"Oi, heads up!"

Ginny jolted out of her reverie, only moments before something bounced hard on the ground before her and wobbled into her lap. She yelped slightly, taken off guard, and was reaching for the wand hidden in her jeans when she realised -- she wasn't under attack, it was just a rogue rugby ball. Evidently the distance between her and the rugby match had not been enough to protect her from their fierce game.

Ginny stood, still shaking from the abrupt adrenaline rush she'd received, and picked up the ball. One of the young men was jogging towards her, his Newcastle United football jersey drenched with sweat, followed by the jeers and insults of his mates.

"Sorry about that, miss!" he called to her, grinning apologetically. "I get butterfingers when there's a pretty girl around."

"You say that to all the girls, I bet," Ginny called back, flirting instinctively. The rugby player laughed and she tossed the ball to him when he was still a few feet away.

And she froze.

He was smiling down at her, the ball tucked in one arm, and seemingly did not notice the way she had stiffened. "Only the ones who get in the way of our games," he teased, grey eyes sparkling with mirth. "Seriously though, miss, no harm intended. We won't interrupt you again."

"That's all right," she breathed, trying to bring back her smile. "It -- really, I --"

"Well, cheers, then." He grinned at her one last time, then turned and jogged back to his mates.

_If I find Draco, then everything will work out._

And like a gift toppling off the lap of the gods, it seemed she had done just that.


	5. Newcastle United

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Four -- Newcastle United**

The rugby player in the Newcastle United jersey went back to his friends, his shaggy ash blond hair bouncing slightly with each jogging step he took. His skin was tinged pink from his exertions, but she knew that normally it would be pale as ivory, smooth and flawless. And she had never met anyone else with eyes that shade of grey.

Ginny, bending to sit again, lost her balance and fell gracelessly back to the ground, her gaze riveted to the young Muggle man that was Draco Malfoy and yet _couldn't_ be. After all of the searching the Ministry had done, on the Continent and throughout the United Kingdom -- had he really been here in London the whole time? Were those sightings in France and Italy even him?

She shook her head and stared down at her novel, flabbergasted. No. It wasn't him, it couldn't be. For one, he had not shown even a flicker of recognition upon seeing her, and Ginny knew that she was not so changed since Hogwarts that he wouldn't know her right away; the red hair always gave her up. But he had not so much as blinked at her, or made any vocal inflections or physical movements to indicate that he already knew her. In fact -- if Ginny was remembering properly her classes on how to read body language -- he almost seemed _attracted_ to her, and the day a Malfoy found a Weasley attractive was the day Tom Riddle arose from the dead. Could he have become such a good actor in his time away from the Wizarding world?

Ginny lifted her eyes again and found that he was staring at her; ducking his head a bit, he waved then returned his attention to the game. He had to know who she was, or at least guess. He also had to know that he was wanted by the Ministry, and Ginny knew he would likely attempt to run or even dare to Disapparate in front of a park full of Muggles. She reached for the wand in her thigh pocket, heart pounding. Bloody hell, she had not been in a situation like this for four years at least. What was she supposed to do? Summon backup? She was surrounded by Muggles on all sides, and she had no idea where the closest Floo connection was. An owl would look suspicious, and besides that she had no way of calling for one. Sending up sparks would be far too conspicuous, and inexcusable in front of so many non-magical witnesses.

She couldn't leave, and she couldn't send word.

She was stuck.

Breathing deeply to slow her racing heart, Ginny opened her novel to a random page and stared at the words inside. She would follow him when he left. That was all there was to it. She would wait around until their game broke up, then tail him to a quiet spot and Stun him. Then he would Side-Along Disapparate with her to the Ministry, where she would turn him over to Law Enforcement, and make sure that someone sent word to the Malfoys that their son was back. Neat, tidy, done. Now if only her heart would stop pounding.

Then again -- it was only normal that she should be nervous. Malfoy's disappearance was the biggest thing since the end of the war, and his humiliating return would be huge. Everyone would want to interview her and get her story, and likely dig up all the skeletons she had hoped would be buried forever.

She looked up and Draco was staring at her yet again. Both of them quickly turned away.

Ginny just wished she knew what he was thinking. Why had he left, what had he been doing, why was he here in broad daylight playing rugby with a bunch of _Muggles_? The Draco she knew would not even touch a Muggle-born witch or wizard, let alone stand in the same vicinity and breathe the same air as a Muggle. He really must have taken the whole hiding-amongst-Muggles thing to the extreme.

After fifteen or twenty minutes of wrestling back and forth with what she needed to do, wondering who would be on duty at Law Enforcement, whether she would be able to avoid the limelight just this once, Ginny heard thudding footsteps coming towards her. Thinking it might be Draco, she looked up quickly, only to see a rather gorgeous Muggle in an Iggy Pop t-shirt coming towards her, one of the other players from Draco's rugby game. Her heart sank back to its normal place in her chest, but she bit her lip in confusion. What was going on _now_?

He had an easy smile, though, and Ginny couldn't hold back one of her own. "All right there," he said, in a thick Scottish brogue.

"Hello," she replied, shifting nervously.

"Look, ahm not one ta beat aboot the bush, so here et es." He crouched down beside her, the aroma of hot, sweaty male assaulting her nose. Ginny had to suppress the involuntary shiver of excitement that went down her spine. "Me mate over there -- the boyo who looks like he's not been outdoors since the Ice Age, tha one?"

She followed where he pointed and found Draco's pale form at the end of his index finger. Draco was talking with another player, and wiping his face with the bottom of his jersey. It looked like they were packing up to go home. "Yeah, I see him," she said, her smile fading slightly.

"Stubborn bugger, he es," the Scotsman said, grinning at her, "and too proud ta admit anathin. Hasn been able ta keep his eyes off you since the ball bounced over here, and lost us the game as well because of his moonin."

Ginny looked at him, wide-eyed. "Oh -- w-well, I do apologize --"

"So ah thought ta meself, 'Simon,' ah thought," the young man went on, "'this es one of your best mates, rugby match notwithstanding. Ta show him there's no hard feelings, why doan you get tha pretty girl's number for him?'" He shrugged and chuckled a little. "It's the least ah could do, you see. Me mate's usually a brill player."

Ginny looked over at Draco again, and saw that he was staring at her once more, but trying to be cool about it. The low-slanted sunlight shone off his long hair, and seemed to make a halo around his pale, angular face.

"So he's been mooning after me all during your match?" she asked, stalling for time. "The poor thing."

"Cryin shame, et es," Simon agreed.

Ginny bit her lip. This definitely changed things, and she quickly scrapped her earlier plan to tail him out of the park. There were other ways to make sure he didn't escape her grasp, after all. "Then I suppose giving him my number is the least I could do," she decided.

Simon grinned again. "Glad you see et ma way, love."

Ginny pulled a slip of paper and Muggle pen from her bag and scrawled her first name and number on it -- she was doubly relieved, now, that Harry had convinced her to buy a mobile phone and taught her how to use it. Simon took the paper, gave her his thanks, and then strode away, back towards Draco and the rest of their group.

She watched them carefully, and reached for her wand when Simon handed Draco her name and number. Once he read it, he might try to Apparate away or flee somehow, regardless of the witnesses surrounding them.

But Draco threw his head back and laughed when he saw what was written on the paper, and shoved Simon with one hand. The other blokes with them all leaned in and smiled, and she imagined they were ribbing him about his apparent infatuation with her. Still, she waited for him to run. She would be ready for him.

Instead, she was shocked yet again when he shoved the slip of paper into his pocket, tossed the ball to one of his friends, and started jogging towards her. Ginny wiped her suddenly clammy palms against her jeans, and wondered how quickly she could draw her wand if it came to a duel.

"Hello again!" he said warmly, raising a hand in greeting.

Ginny swallowed, hard. Any doubts she had had earlier had been erased. This beautiful blond young man -- dressed like a Muggle, playing rugby with Muggles, without a trace of magic anywhere around him -- was truly the long lost Draco Malfoy.

"All right?" Ginny replied, shading her eyes with her arm.

"Yeah, all right." Draco smiled goofily down at her, and with a start she realised that he wasn't acting normally at all. When had she _ever _seen a smile like that on his face? When had there ever been anything but contempt and condescension in his voice? "Hey," he said, hands on his narrow hips, "look, if Simon said anything to offend you at all --"

"No, he was a perfect gentleman," she said, forcing herself to smile back.

"Good. Right. Well," he went on, running a hand through his hair, "I'm glad you gave him your name and number -- it's always best to just go along with whatever he says."

Ginny stood, brushing grass off of her jeans, and made sure he got a good look at her face. "Is Simon usually so demanding?" she asked, walking closer.

"Usually," he said. Ginny couldn't help but stare at him, and examine what eight years had done. He looked -- calm. _Happy_. His face was fuller, not nearly so pointed as it had been when they were children, but he was fit too, as though he was taking good care of himself. This was not the Draco Malfoy she and her brothers knew; far from it, this was the better, new and improved version.

_Criminal!_ her mind screamed at her. _He's a criminal!_

"Meeting Simon makes me wonder what the rest of your mates are like," Ginny said lightly, giving him a coy smile.

He laughed and scuffed one dirty trainer on the grass. "So it's my mates you're interested in, then?" Merlin, the inflections of his voice were the same as ever, and yet _this was not Draco. _"Should I end this conversation now before I do something embarrassing?"

Ginny shrugged. "I've already watched you drop several easy passes, so I don't know what your definition of 'embarrassing' might be."

"Touché," Draco said, covering his heart with his hand. "You're right. Reckon I can withstand anything now, after that."

"Do your worst," Ginny declared, grinning.

He pulled out the scrap of paper with her name and number on it. "I was going to ask if it would be presumptuous of me to keep this," he said, "so that I could -- dunno, use it sometime. Ring you. Ask you to dinner?"

Ginny ducked and hid the giddy smile that came to her lips. She wished she had some kind of recording equipment, for this was an historical moment in the making: a Malfoy, asking a Weasley out on a date. "Presumptuous?" she repeated, and pretended to think a moment. "No, I don't think it would be that at all."

Draco gave her a brilliant smile, and for several mindless seconds Ginny was completely dazzled. He had never smiled that way before, but Merlin, how beautiful he looked when his face was lit up like that. "Does that mean you'd say yes? Here I am asking if it's all right to ring you, but I don't even know if it's a sure thing."

"Now that's something else altogether," Ginny said, and they both laughed. "But yes, I would love to go to dinner with you."

"Well then -- reckon you'll be hearing from me again soon," Draco said, toying with the slip of paper nervously.

"I look forward to it," Ginny said, and she realised that she wasn't completely lying.

"Oi!" Simon called from Draco's group of friends; they both turned to look at him. "Are we goan to the pub or should we wait for the weddin?"

Draco blushed, and Ginny found herself thinking it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. "You won't be invited, you bloody cross-dresser," he shouted back, and Ginny giggled as Simon made a rude hand gesture. "Introducing my flatmate," Draco said with an exaggerated sigh, "Simon Kincaid. Wait till you see him with a few drinks in him."

"You'd better go, then," she said, through her chuckle.

"Yeah -- but I'll ring you tomorrow?"

"I'll keep my mobile on," she promised. Then, just as he was about to go back to his friends, she cried, "Wait!"

Draco turned. "Yeah?"

"I'm Ginny, by the way. Ginny -- Beesley," she improvised. Weasley was far too rare a name to use outside the Wizarding world, and she still wasn't sure where she stood with Draco.

He rolled his eyes and stuck out his hand. As they shook, he said, "My manners are usually better than this, I promise. Nice to meet you, Ginny Beesley."

"Nice to meet you too --"

"Ben Hamilton. At your service."

He grinned at her again, that adorably bright grin of his, then ran back to his mates as she looked on. Ginny felt as though she'd been Portkeyed to an alternate dimension, one where nothing made sense and Draco Malfoy had no idea who she was.

What the _bloody hell_ was going on?


	6. Evaluation and Investigation

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Five -- Evaluation and Investigation**

Ginny walked back to her flat in a daze, clutching her bag as though it were her lifeline.

She was more than half convinced that the scene in St James' Park had not just happened.

She had fallen asleep, perhaps. Dreamed the entire thing. She'd been thinking about Draco's case so much the past few weeks, it must have entered her subconscious.

There was no _way_ that he could have avoided the Ministry for eight years, without using any magic to conceal himself, if he had been in London living like a Muggle the whole time.

The first thing she did when she let herself into her flat was go to her desk, where Draco's case file was spread out over every inch of flat surface, and look again at the interviews from Italy and France. They had seen his picture. They had identified him right away, and despite what she had said to Romilda weeks earlier, she knew that hair like Draco's was not seen every day. There was no need to throw out any of the evidence, as she had briefly feared.

But there were still those missing years between the day he left Hogwarts and the months when he was spotted in Paris, not to mention the even larger gap between Florence and this evening. Could he have been in London then too? Maybe he had been on extended holiday, though Ginny couldn't imagine why he would have gone on holiday by himself. Besides that, he had no money: one of the first things the Malfoys had promised to do was to make the Ministry aware of any unidentified transactions from their bank accounts, and none had occurred.

He had called Simon his flatmate, though, so it followed that he was paying his share of the rent on a flat. Ginny made a notation in her notebook: _has Muggle job, bank account, address_. She had to hand it to him, he wasn't going halfway at all with this whole hiding business. He had fit right in with his mates in terms of clothing and slang, and he knew how to play Muggle sports. He was comfortable with the Muggles, so he had been around them for a long time. Not only that, they seemed to genuinely like Draco, something that she knew would make Harry and Ron laugh uproariously at the thought.

Ginny sighed and leaned back in her chair. There was time to worry about the whys later, once he was in custody and Veritaserum could be applied. She was already making plans to have a Hit Wizard tail her to their date, so she would have assistance in taking him down. Hopefully Draco would choose a quiet place for them to eat, so that an Obliviator wouldn't be necessary. Ginny wrinkled her nose. She had never liked working with Obliviators, and the fact that the prat Zacharias Smith was one did little to inure them to her.

And then -- there was Draco. His false name. His bright, friendly demeanour. Ginny wrote _Ben Hamilton_ in her notebook and circled it. It was an extremely Muggle name -- she knew that there were no Hamiltons in the Wizarding world. How had he come up with it? And how had he explained his lack of Muggle identification to his employers, his bank, his mates? Unless he had resorted to the black market in order to obtain a birth certificate, a passport, a driver's license...

Ginny rubbed her eyes tiredly. There were so many holes in this case, especially now that she had found him, and nothing seemed to add up. Amnesia had crossed her mind -- as ridiculous as it sounded to her, because that kind of severe memory loss only happened in novels -- but as far as she knew, Draco had suffered no trauma of any kind during the final battle. Besides that, it had been eight years, and Ginny had never heard of any kind of memory loss being permanent.

Nevertheless, she sketched out a plausible scenario and added it to her notes. Draco, deciding that he didn't like being on the losing side of the war, and perhaps fearing repercussions for his actions, had fled the magical world intending to wait out the postwar uproar. But since he was so sheltered and had so little knowledge of the Muggle world, he had been in an accident -- maybe a car accident, knowing how dangerous those horrible things were -- and suffered head trauma and the resulting amnesia. No one would have any records of him in a Muggle hospital, as he officially wasn't a British citizen, but his picture would be posted in the papers in the hopes that someone would recognise him. And no one would, because the Wizarding community didn't keep up with Muggle news.

Still, though, wouldn't he have recognised _her_? Wouldn't her red hair, or her name, have triggered even the smallest memory? Wouldn't he have been performing small amounts of wild, uncontrolled magic that made him and others suspicious?

Which meant she was back to square one: what the hell was going on?

She flipped listlessly through Sturgis Podmore's notes yet again, hoping beyond hope for some stroke of inspiration to hit her, something new to occur to her, a unique way of looking at the facts that hadn't yet come to mind --

The very first page in the case file, detailing Nearly Headless Nick's testimony, came to rest on top of the stack.

Ginny's eyebrows raised. That was key, wasn't it, Nick's eyewitness account? He had actually _seen_ Draco head for the Slytherin dungeons that morning -- a fact corroborated by the Malfoys, who said he had been going there to pack his trunk -- only to make an about face and leave the castle instead. That was something there. What had changed his mind?

The very next morning, Ginny Apparated to Hogsmeade and made her way up to Hogwarts, the massive castle standing still and silent in the Scottish fog. It was a different experience being here when school wasn't in session, for there were no classes out in the greenhouse or near Hagrid's hut, no sound of the bells to end classes, none of the chatter from hundreds of students talking about homework and lessons. Ginny sent her Patronus, a wild horse, galloping up to the castle, and waited for a reply.

Some twenty minutes later, a familiar figure came loping down the path to the school, and waved cheerily at her once he was within earshot. "Ginny!" Neville Longbottom cried, grinning from ear to ear. "Excellent to see you! All right?"

"All right, Nev," she said, grinning back. He undid the enchantments around the gates and let her in, only to give her a bone-crushing hug.

"What brings you all the way up here?" he said, eyeing her scarlet uniform.

"Ministry business, of course," she said, gesturing to her badge. "I was hoping to have a word with Nearly Headless Nick?"

"Then it's about Malfoy," Neville said, nodding and shoving his hands into his pockets. "I know because that's all Nick talks about these days, how he was the very last person to see him. Still looking, then?"

"I've had some good leads," she said evasively. Neville shrugged and led her up to Hogwarts.

Neville could not have been more different from his days as a student. He had grown up quite suddenly in his last year at school, and during the summer session McGonagall had run to ensure that the Seventh Year students could still complete their studies and take the N.E.W.T.s on time. Now he towered above Ginny, his once-round face devoid of its previous baby fat, and his dark brown hair looked suitably dusty and uncared for, belying his role as a researcher and intense scholar of Herbology. In fact, he bore a marked resemblance to dear Professor Lupin, with his scholastic air and plain wardrobe.

"His is an interesting case, isn't it?" Neville was saying, as they walked. "Malfoy's, that is. I mean, his mum and dad got off scot-free after the war, but just because he went missing he's suddenly guilty of all these things. I only know about him assaulting one of the Patils with an innocent hex, and that's it. Doesn't seem worth the manhunt, if you ask me."

"I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to discuss cases," Ginny said.

"That's all right," Neville said, grinning kindly. "I'm not expecting you to answer. I don't see a whole lot of people up here during the summers -- it's just me and a few other professors without families. It's nice to just talk to someone new."

"You know you have an open invitation to visit the Burrow," Ginny reminded him. "My mum worries about you all the time, wondering if you're eating properly. I'll tell her to send you some mince pies."

"I love your mum's cooking, ta," Neville said, laughing. "As good as the house elves are here, they don't hold a candle to Molly Weasley."

They reached the great double doors that led into the castle, and made their way into the entrance hall. A pearlescent glow came from the top of the sweeping staircase to their right -- Nearly Headless Nick, adjusting the ruff around his partially-severed neck.

"Good morning, Miss Weasley," Nick intoned, floating down the stairs. "I could not help but overhear that you were in need of my assistance."

"Hello, Nick," she said. "Yeah, I wanted to ask you about Draco Malfoy again."

"I'll be up in my office if you need me," Neville said, stepping away.

"Thank you, Professor Longbottom," Nick said solemnly. Ginny and Neville grinned at each other, before Neville sauntered off, whistling "The Minotaur Mix" under his breath.

"I'm afraid I told Mr. Podmore everything I knew about that morning after the battle," Nick said, once Neville had gone. "I of course did not realise the import of my observations at the time, so the memory is not exactly clear. I saw Mr. Malfoy leave the Great Hall, begin walking towards the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons, then for no apparent reason change direction and head outside."

"Where were you when he was in here?" Ginny asked. "What were you doing?"

"I was the one who discovered the Creevey boy's body," Nick said sadly, clasping his transluscent hands together. "I was coming to get someone to bring it to the Great Hall with the other casualties. I was just up there --" Nick gestured to the top of the stairs. "Malfoy left right when I was at the top."

"Where did he stop?"

Nick floated towards the corridor that led down to the Slytherin dungeons, only a handful of paces away from the Great Hall doors. "He stopped here, and stood still for a few moments. I am not on a first-name basis with Slytherins, as it is not my house, but I was nevertheless concerned and called to him. He completely ignored me. I asked him again what was wrong, and he then spun around and headed for the doors, not even noticing me though I was right behind him."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. She'd never heard that part of the story before. "You don't think it's possible for me to see that memory in a Pensieve, do you?" she said.

Nick shook his wobbling head. "I am a ghost, Miss Weasley," he said. "All spells go right through me."

_Bloody hell_, she groaned. Ginny kept the polite look on her face, though, and nodded at this information. If only someone else had been there to see Malfoy leave!

She stopped by Neville's office to bid him goodbye, then went by McGonagall's office to say hello, before she returned to Hogsmeade and Apparated back to London. An odd noise greeted her the moment she stepped into her flat. It sounded like a tinny rendition of La Marseillaise coming from her bag, which was thrown on the couch in the sitting room. Her mobile phone was ringing. Leave it to Harry to tease her about her previous loathing of Fleur Delacour.

Fumbling through her bag to find the annoying thing, Ginny at last hit the green button and raised the mobile phone to her ear. "Er -- hello?"

"Hello -- Ginny? It's Ben Hamilton, we met -- well, about sixteen hours ago, actually..."

Merlin help her, it was Draco.

"Oh, yes, all right," she said, injecting some warmth into her voice. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you yet."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed. "I just thought -- but if you've already made plans for this evening then I'd completely understand --"

"No no, I'm just surprised, that's all." Ginny curled up on her sofa and cradled the phone against her ear. "Most blokes say they'll ring you tomorrow, and you're lucky to hear back from them a week later."

He laughed. "Hopefully, you'll find that I'm not like most blokes."

Ginny felt as though her stomach had filled with butterflies at his words, and she grinned. "Hopefully," she said.

"Anyway, I rang because my mates and I are going to O'Neill's to watch the match on their big telly tonight, and I wondered if you'd like to come along."

Ginny needed a moment to decipher what he had said. Merlin, if she was going to keep up this act around him, she desperately needed to do some research on Muggles. "Who's playing again?" she asked, hoping that was the right thing to say.

"Chelsea and West Ham. We'll all be cheering for West Ham, so leave your Chelsea colours at home, please."

Ginny chuckled. "You'll never find a bigger West Ham fan than me," she lied.

"Good God, woman, I might just have to marry you."

There was an embarrassed pause, and Ginny covered her face with her hand. _Is this really happening? _she thought. _Is this for real?_

"What I meant to say," Draco went on breezily, "was where can I pick you up?"


	7. Dating In Disguise

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Six -- Dating In Disguise**

Ginny gave Draco her address and he said he'd come by that evening to pick her up. The moment she'd ended the call, Ginny raced for her little hearth, lit a fire, and Floo'd Dean Thomas. "Dean!" she cried, when her head popped up in his vacant sitting room. "Dean, it's Ginny, it's an emergency!"

A door burst open down the short corridor off the room, and Dean came out, sliding along the floor in his stocking feet and pyjamas. "Ginny, what's the matter?"

"I have a date tonight with a West Ham fan and I told him I'm a fan as well," she blurted out.

Dean, who had obviously been prepared for something more life-threatening, stopped for a second, blinking. "Wait -- that's it? Oh, Gin," he said, laughing. "Well come on, then, I'll give you an outline of what you need to know."

Ginny climbed through his fireplace and brushed the ashes off of her clothes. "I've got a spare jersey you can wear, somewhere around here," Dean went on, as he led her back to his untidy bedroom. "Right, to begin with, West Ham joined the Football League in 1919..."

Ginny listened carefully to everything Dean had to say, from a description of the Boleyn Ground, where West Ham played their home games, to the best players on the team -- "Mention Green's performance in goal against Arsenal last year, and you'll definitely get laid tonight" -- to the team anthems. He found the spare jersey at the back of his closet, and Ginny promised to return it once she was done. It was lunch time by then, so Dean offered to treat her to something and they ate Indian takeaway together in his cramped kitchen.

"He must be quite a fellow if you're going to all this trouble for him," Dean said, as they worked through tandoori chicken. "I've never known you to be like that."

Ginny swallowed and looked at him blankly. Dean worked for the advertising department of the _Daily Prophet,_ so she wasn't exactly at liberty to discuss cases with him, but his words did ring true. She had no reason to pretend anything with Draco -- she was supposed to be arresting him, not dating him. But Ginny hadn't been out on a proper date since breaking up with Harry, and truth be told, she was excited despite herself. "Yeah," she said slowly, "I suppose he is."

"Am I ever going to meet him?" Dean said. "If he's a West Ham fan then he can't be all that bad."

"I -- well." Ginny cleared her throat nervously. "He's -- Muggle-born, obviously," she lied.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got that part."

"And -- I mean, yeah, things are rosy right now, starting out, but I don't know that it's going to last."

"All right. Well," Dean said, shrugging, "take care of yourself, Gin. I'll bet anything you're going to be watching the match tonight, so if he pays more attention to you than to the game -- well, you'll just know."

Ginny blinked. "Know what?"

"That it might go against your prediction and last," he said, smirking. "They do that sometimes, you know. Relationships."

Ginny smiled down at her plate. "Then maybe you should keep telling me more about West Ham," she prompted. Dean laughed and did just that. By the time she left his flat, nearly one hour later, she knew every player on the roster and his jersey number, their rivals on other teams, the historic plays of the past ten years, the names of the coaching staff...

Draco was prompt that evening in fetching her at her flat for their date, and Ginny had to stifle a laugh at seeing his car idling at the kerb. When he'd said he was going to pick her up, she'd automatically pictured the two of them on broomsticks. "All right?" he said, when she opened the door of her building and found him on the front step. She caught a whiff of some light aftershave and shampoo on him that smelled absolutely heavenly. He was wearing an untucked pale blue Oxford with the top buttons undone, and faded jeans -- slightly dressier than what Ginny knew Muggles would wear to pubs, but she could think of a good reason for his apparel choices. "Wow," he said, when she stepped out. "You -- er, you look great."

Ginny blushed. She was in Dean's jersey, which she'd tied at the waist so it wouldn't be so baggy, and cropped jeans with sandals. "Go West Ham," she said, grinning up at him.

"Amen to that." He turned and led her down to his car, a tiny thing that looked old but fastidiously clean, and opened the passenger side door for her.

"My mates are going to meet us there," Draco said, as he expertly pulled away from the pavement and entered traffic. "Some of them are bringing their partners too, so you won't be the only girl."

_Partner_. Ginny wondered at the way her stomach dropped at the word.

They made light, inconsequential conversation as Draco drove through the city. He told her he lived in Earl's Court, in a townhouse he shared with two other friends. "Simon you met earlier, then there's John Palmer, he was there at the park as well. We get along famously, considering we live in such close quarters and the two of them are complete slobs."

"Not you?" Ginny asked.

"I can't bear clutter," he declared pompously, and she received a jolt of recognition. It was as though someone had found an actor to play Draco, but had mixed Draco's personality in with his own traits. She knew he had been very precise about his appearance -- he had never had so much as a hair out of place, or a wrinkle in his school shirts -- and she couldn't imagine him living in anything but pristinely clean conditions. All of this she filed away at the back of her mind, to add to her case notebook.

The most interesting piece of information she garnered was when he asked her about her family and she returned the question. His physical reaction was so slight it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but Ginny caught it right away: his hands, clutching the steering wheel as he drove, tightened imperceptibly, so that his knuckles went white. "My parents are both deceased," he said quietly. "They were my only family, so it's just me now."

"I'm sorry," Ginny murmured, her mind positively spinning.

His response bothered her for the rest of their ride, and as Draco parked and led her to the brightly lit Irish pub where they would watch the football game. A group of men and women awaited them inside, and Draco made hasty introductions for her benefit. Simon Kincaid, his brown eyes twinkling, made his way through the crowds to give Ginny a smacking kiss on the mouth. "Welcome, love," he cried.

"Thanks very much," Ginny said, trying hard not to laugh. Simon reminded her so much of Fred that she didn't realise that others wouldn't take the kiss as well as she had.

"Is that your idea of being funny?" Draco said, irritated.

"Prima nocta, mate," Simon said, throwing an arm around Ginny's shoulder. "Just exercising me right ta prima nocta."

Draco gave her a tight smile. "Did you want something to drink?"

"A -- Guinness, if you please," Ginny said. He nodded and stalked off towards the bar.

"Ach, ahve done et again," Simon moaned, leaning into Ginny. "Reached me quota for the day."

"Simon has a particular knack for getting on Ben's nerves," said a man with dirty blond hair; Draco had introduced him earlier as John Palmer, the third flatmate. "Simon would jump in front of a bus for any of his mates --"

"But en Ben's case, he woulda pushed me ento ets path en the first place," Simon finished, grinning.

"Dear M--God," Ginny corrected herself. "We barely know each other, and things're already fouled up, aren't they?"

John laughed and took a sip of his beer. "Nah, no worries," he said. "I've got the feeling you could do much worse and he'd still adore you as much as he does."

Ginny felt her face burn at that. "But -- we barely know each other," she repeated.

"Didna stop him from goan on aboot you all last night," Simon said knowingly. "Reached a point where ah said, 'Benjamin love, stoof et all and help me steal this bloody car, or the bobbies have got us,' as we were playin _Grand Theft Auto: Las Vegas_ at the time."

"Video game," John said, at Ginny's blank look. His clarification didn't help either.

Draco returned with Ginny's drink, and she slid out from under Simon's arm to accept it. "Talking about me?" he asked, looking at his flatmates.

"Of course," John said, smirking. He looked as though he'd learned how to from Draco. "Now she knows all about your bad habits --"

"Freakish neatness," Simon butted in.

"Deplorable manners."

"Es not natural ta be tha tidy."

"And poor driving skills."

"But I'm still here despite the warnings," Ginny said, smiling up at Draco. He grinned back at her, and the butterflies returned in full force.

They all settled in to watch the game, and for the next few hours the entire pub was completely enraptured with the projection television in front of them. The place erupted each time a goal was scored, Ginny among them, for she found that following football was not much different and no less exciting than watching a Quidditch match -- though football was played on the ground, of course. Everything Dean had taught her came wonderfully into use, and she managed to impress all of them with her knowledge.

"What do you do?" Draco asked her, during a commercial break. They had both ordered seafood chowder and were working their way through it.

"I'm a private investigator," Ginny improvised wildly. "I work with -- er, the Metropolitan police."

"Wow," Draco said, sounding genuinely impressed. "So you're the one who gets hired if a wife suspects her husband is up to no good."

"Something like that, yeah," Ginny said, amused. "My mum hates it and keeps telling me to quit, get married and stay at home, because it's too dangerous." She ate some more of her chowder. "What do you do?"

He gave her a shy look. "Actually -- I was sort of hoping that could be part of a second date -- if I haven't scared you off yet."

Ginny's heart flipped over. He wanted to see her again. And truth be told -- though she suspected it was partly the alcohol talking -- she wanted to see him again too. "A secret, then?" Ginny said. "I love secrets."

She had been hoping for some kind of reaction from him at that, but there was nothing. He only gave her the same goofy grin he'd given her yesterday at the park, and asked, "Are you free on Tuesday?"

West Ham ended up winning the game by a narrow margin, and half the pub went wild. Draco's friends slapped each other high fives and ordered more rounds of beer for everyone. Everyone toasted the team save Draco, who had cut himself off in order to drive Ginny home.

They went on talking without interruptions now, and covered all kinds of topics: their favorite foods, books, films -- Ginny had spent that afternoon giving herself a crash course in modern Muggle culture -- their conversation flowing seamlessly from one thing to another. Muggle Draco was so easy to talk to that Ginny found herself discussing things she never would have mentioned.

"I have a brother who passed away eight years ago," she told him, once they were back to talking about family. "I miss him so much. The pain never goes away."

And that was when it happened. At the words 'eight years ago,' Draco had frozen completely, and his eyes widened and darted away. Ginny stopped, almost gaping, until he cleared his throat and returned his gaze to hers. "That's terrible," he murmured, and he quickly changed the subject.

Ginny hinted that it was getting a bit late when eleven o'clock approached, so Draco stood and announced to the group that they were calling it a night. A chorus of 'good night's followed them out the door, and Draco led Ginny to his car outside the pub.

"So about Tuesday night," he began, after he'd driven down a few streets in silence. "You're free then?"

"I should be," she said, gazing out at the street lights above her. The window was cool against her cheek, and felt good on her flushed face. "What are we doing?"

"Surprise, remember?"

"A good surprise?"

Draco's eyes briefly left the road to meet hers. "I hope you'll think so."

He pulled up in front of her flat a half hour later, and got out to escort her to her door. "You don't have to, you know," she said, as they walked up her front steps.

He flashed a grin at her. "Didn't I tell you I had manners?"

They stopped by the door, and Ginny pulled out her keys but didn't go in. "I had fun tonight," she whispered, wondering why she felt as though the world was waiting for something. Or maybe she was.

"I could tell," Draco said just as quietly.

Ginny giggled. "Were you even paying attention to the telly?"

He didn't say anything, and he didn't really have to. "I'll see you on Tuesday," he said, right before he bent and brushed his lips against hers.

Dazzled, Ginny watched Draco return to his car, before she put her key in the lock and let herself in. He waved to her as he zoomed off.

Ginny entered her flat and slid to the floor, burying her face in her hands. She could still feel the light pressure of Draco's lips.

This was not good at all.


	8. Head Over Heels

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Seven -- Head Over Heels**

Almost as soon as Ginny had seated herself across from him for lunch that Monday, Percy gave her a knowing grin. "Do I know him?" he asked.

Ginny blinked, dazed. "Sorry, what?"

"You've started seeing someone, Gin."

She didn't even bother to deny it. "How did you know?"

"Because I started seeing someone as well, and you look exactly how I feel." Percy ceremoniously draped his napkin in his lap and began helping himself to his lunch. "It's Patricia Stimpson, by the way, she works for Transportation."

Ginny scrambled to put a face to the name, and came up with a girl with long dark brown hair framing a heart-shaped face, from George's year at Hogwarts. "That's excellent, Percy," she said sincerely. "Is she aware of Mum's four grandkids each requirement?"

Percy, who had just drunk some pumpkin juice, spat it spectacularly across the table with a giant burst of laughter. Ginny snorted with amusement and waved her wand to clear the mess. "You weren't there when Hermione declared that she was done after two, then," he said hoarsely. "And no, Patricia isn't aware of any such rule. She's very career-oriented, and ambitious to boot. I don't think she wants children."

Ginny smirked. "You know I timed that right when you took a drink."

"Yeah, I guessed as much."

They ate in silence a few moments. "So I've spilled my guts," Percy said. "Tricia and I went out to dinner Saturday night, and made more plans for this weekend. What about you?"

"Er..." Bloody hell, what was she going to tell him? "It's not anyone you know," she said, not meeting his eyes. "We ran into each other at the park a few days ago and hit it off right away, and... that's all there is to tell."

"Mmhm." Percy narrowed his eyes at her. "So the fact that you seem a bit hot and bothered has nothing to do with anything."

"Percy _please_," she hissed, a little more sharply than she'd intended. She counted to five and took a deep breath before continuing. "Look, Mum is still going at me about breaking up with Harry -- thinks we're _perfect_ and _destined_ -- she still believes I'm going to wake up one morning and realise I was wrong about him and beg him to take me back! And Harry's convinced I will as well! If they find out I'm seeing someone else now --"

"And find out you really like him," Percy added. "She might excommunicate you."

She sighed. "Yes. You see my point, don't you?"

"Mum can be... difficult, I know," he said, leaning forward in his seat. "And I know it's gotten worse since Fred" -- his voice wavered on the name -- "and with George becoming so withdrawn. All I can say is that you've got to just wait it out, Gin. Mum often really does know what's best for us, but when it comes right down to it, nobody knows you better than you yourself. If you tell me it's not meant to be with you and Harry, then I'll believe you, not her."

Tears welled in Ginny's eyes during Percy's impromptu speech, and when he had done, she took his freckled, long-fingered hands and kissed them both. "Where have you been all my life, Percy?" she breathed.

Percy reddened, embarrassed. "Up in my room writing reports on cauldron bottoms, most like," he said, and they both burst into uncontrollable giggles.

Once they'd recovered, Percy immediately turned serious again. "I have one more question, and then I'll never bring it up again. Is this just a summer fling, or are you really serious about this bloke?"

Ginny recalled what it had been like seated at that little table with Draco, their heads almost touching as they talked about anything and everything and ignored the world around them. "I think it's going to be serious," she murmured, looking down at her lunch tray. "Very serious."

Percy nodded. "Then I'll do my older brother duty and just tell you to have fun but be careful."

"You won't threaten to ship me off to a nunnery?"

Percy rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing that's from Ron."

"Got it in one."

Draco had promised to ring her to solidify their plans for Tuesday but unfortunately, even though her phone had been on, she'd been surrounded by magic so the text message he'd sent was mildly scrambled. Nevertheless, she was able to discern that he wanted her to meet him at an upscale, five-star restaurant near Leicester Square at the ridiculously late hour of ten o'clock. He said she could eat a light supper at a more normal hour, but nothing more.

Ginny raided her closet the moment she had Apparated back to her flat Tuesday evening, but ended up having to go to Oxford Street to buy something. She was ready to go by half past nine, and spent several minutes pacing up and down the length of her flat -- though she told herself that it was just to become accustomed to the new heels she'd bought to go with her dress. Her hair was down, spilling over her bare shoulders in gentle ripples, her face adorned with minimal makeup. Finally, when she couldn't bear the wait any longer, she grabbed her wand and handbag and Apparated away.

The restaurant looked as though it were shutting down for the night when she arrived. Diners were leaving and a waiter was going round to each table, dousing the little candles at every setting. A bus boy noisily collected the abandoned dinner plates and dumped them into a grey bin, and grabbed the wilted flowers at each table, to be replaced the next day with fresh ones.

"You must be here for Ben?"

Ginny turned from the window towards the restaurant entrance, where a primly-dressed hostess was smiling at her from the doorway. "Yes," Ginny said, "he told me --"

"He told me to expect you, I'll take you to him." The hostess held the door open for her, and Ginny nodded her thanks as she swept in, taking in the luxury and grandeur of the interior. It wasn't much of a stretch of the imagination to wonder why the place had been awarded five stars.

The hostess led her through the vacant eating area, back past the wine storage and the bathrooms and, strangely, into the kitchen, where the staff was just finishing wiping down the gleaming metal surfaces and stacking the china and cutlery back into their respective cupboards.

"Ben will be right with you," the hostess said. "I've got to lock up the front and count tonight's till."

Ginny didn't have long to wonder what was happening, for not long after the sounds from the front ceased, Draco came through the rotating kitchen door, bearing several bags of groceries. "Ah, you made it," he said, setting down his load on the table at the centre of the room and turning to look at her. "Oh hell -- I forgot to tell you not to dress up. Did you really go on the Underground in all that?"

"Er -- well, it wasn't that crowded," she lied.

Draco gave her a once over that made her heart pound wildly. "You look...amazing, Ginny."

She blushed and murmured her thanks, and only then noticed what he was wearing: a white double-breasted tunic, a white half-apron, baggy green plaid trousers, and day-glo orange flip flops. "You work here," she said, as it struck her.

"I'm the sous chef, yeah," he said, and he started unloading the food he'd brought in. "I wanted to do this at my flat, but then I found out John's parents are in from Blackburn for the week, so I called in a favor with the hostess to let me use the kitchen here." Once the food was arrayed on the table, he balanced himself on his splayed hands and gave her a rakish grin. "I'm going to cook for you."

"Wow," she cried, laughing. "No one's ever cooked for me before."

"Then you're in for a treat," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "I noticed you had the seafood chowder at O'Neill's, so I hope you're up for salmon with maple and mustard seed sauce."

Ginny groaned. "It sounds heavenly."

Draco wasted no time in getting to work, beginning by unwrapping two salmon fillets. He spoke with her as he moved familiarly around the kitchen. "How did you become a sous chef?" she asked.

"Worked my way up," he said, now chopping garlic cloves into precise pieces. "I knew when I was about twenty that I wanted to cook -- there was just something I liked about adding all these things together and ending up with something else. I know that's a simplistic way of putting it, but..." He shrugged.

Ginny just shook her head in wonder -- for at Hogwarts, Draco's best subject had been Potions. "You went to cooking school, then?"

"Couldn't afford it. Someone close to me recommended that I go out and get some real world experience, so I went to Italy and France to learn about foods and flavors and to work under some of the best chefs in Paris and Florence..."

That was why he'd been spotted there. He wasn't up to anything sinister, or on the run from the Ministry -- he was learning how to _cook_.

"I started as a line cook when I came back to London," Draco went on, "then managed to impress the chef de cuisine enough with my foie gras that he made me sous chef. That makes me second only to the chef, actually. I come up with the daily specials, go to the markets to get fresh meat and fish, and expedite dishes." He stopped, and then gestured her towards him with his head, so Ginny left her place by the centre table and came closer. "Try this," he said, offering her a taste of the sauce he was mixing while the salmon cooked. "Good?"

Ginny sipped delicately at the golden brown sauce from his spoon. "Fantastic," she said. "Where is this recipe from?"

"Paris. I like it because it's relatively simple to make, but tastes like something you'd pay thirty quid for at a restaurant. John tells me he could live off it," Draco added, chuckling.

Once the sauce was done and the salmon had simmered in it for a few minutes, Draco removed the fillets to plates and dribbled the remaining sauce over them. Together they gathered what they needed and went out into the dining room, where a lone table still had its place settings and candle lit.

Draco poured wine for them both, and then raised his glass. "A toast?"

"To what?" Ginny lifted her wine too.

"Us -- if that doesn't sound too cheesy," he amended with a grin.

Ginny grinned back. "That's not cheesy at all," she declared, and their glasses clinked.

They were quiet awhile, and Ginny couldn't believe how good the salmon was. "I want to open my own restaurant someday," he confided in her. "I just have to wait a bit, save my money, find people I can trust to work with me."

"Not people whose talent you respect?"

Draco made an odd face, and swilled the remaining wine in his glass. "I have trust issues," he said in a low voice. "I'm very self-reliant, and prefer being that way."

_Merlin_, Ginny thought, _the inherent Slytherin in him is coming out._ "Ah," she said lightly. "Only child syndrome?"

A troubled look crossed his face, and he set his wine glass down. "That's..." He gave her a weak smile. "I don't mean to push you away, but -- that's not second-date material."

Ginny quickly backtracked, hands trembling as she wondered what on earth he was hiding. "I'm sorry, I --"

"No, it's all right, you didn't know." He finished off the last of his salmon. "I would like to tell you, though. Someday."

"I'd be a captive audience when you did," Ginny promised. On impulse, she reached across the table and took his hand. He twined their fingers together, and seemed reassured that she wasn't put off.

They washed and replaced their dishes quietly, unsure how to get back to their previous banter. Draco packed up his groceries and left them on the centre table, as he escorted Ginny to the front of the restaurant. London was winding down for the night, the pubs, cinemas, and theatres emptying their patrons into the streets. Far off, through a moment of stillness, Ginny heard the Clock Tower chime the hour.

"Dinner was...I've run out of descriptive words," she said, laughing at herself.

"I'm glad you liked it," he murmured. "I like cooking for you."

"I like being cooked for." This time, Ginny took the initiative, by tugging gently on the collar of his chef's tunic, until he had bent enough that she could kiss him. His lips moved slowly on hers, as he wound his hands through her hair, not pushing or rushing her until Ginny opened her mouth and gave him unspoken permission to deepen the kiss.

She was breathless when they parted again, and as Draco looked into her eyes. "Ring me when you get back to your flat," he murmured. "I want to make sure you get home all right."

Ginny nodded. "Good night," she breathed, offering him a wavery smile. He kissed the back of her hand, before letting her set off for home.


	9. The Real Deal

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Eight -- The Real Deal**

Ginny and Draco were separated by work commitments for a week and a half following their dinner date -- Draco told her that someone from the Michelin Guidebook was coming to eat at the restaurant and the owner was in a tizzy making sure that everything was unflinchingly perfect, and Ginny herself had become bogged down by paperwork, guard detail for the Minister, and family dinners. She wasn't sure which of the three was the worst.

At least this time she was able to actually attend the dinner at the Burrow, for Harry had not given her anyone to tail this weekend. Molly had told her in no uncertain terms that she was to come, because she was worried that her only daughter wasn't eating properly and not getting enough rest from her dangerous, anxiety-inducing job. Ginny was just grateful that she didn't have to cook anything, for since Draco had cooked his phenomenal salmon dish for her, just looking at a pot full of canned vegetable soup was enough to make her miss him dreadfully. More than she should have. Maybe her mother was right about her job being dangerous.

After nonchalantly asking Hermione how to send text messages with her mobile phone, she and Draco had begun a vigourous dialogue via their phones. She became adept at translating his messages through the scrambling they usually received from magic, and laughed at the little jokes and silly things he sent her. They asked about their ideal holiday destination, dream job, and other random facts. Draco told her that his favourite colour was green, his birthday was 10 July, and he was twenty-nine years old. Ginny wasn't sure when his real birthday was, but she knew for a fact that he was actually twenty-six. Why would he have changed his age -- and made himself _older_, for that matter?

Unfortunately, though she knew that Percy hadn't said a word, it soon became clear to her family, when she arrived at the Burrow that Saturday, that something was up.

Ginny entered through the back door at a few minutes past seven, wiping the mud off her shoes and hanging her cloak on the row of hooks along the wall. The noise from the front room told her that the rest of the family was already there, but two red-haired figures remained in the kitchen -- one was her mother, putting something into the oven, and the other stood by the cabinet, pouring a tray full of glasses of pumpkin juice. They both looked up at her entrance.

"Greetings, Your Holiness," Ginny said, grinning at George.

"Bless you, my child," he replied, grinning back, self-consciously tilting his head so his long hair hid the tender pink skin where an ear had once been.

"Ginny dear, so glad you could make it this time," her mother said, kissing her cheek, though she sounded as though it were Ginny's fault that she hadn't made it to the previous dinner.

"How're things at the Ministry?" George asked.

Ginny groaned, and moved forward to help him carry out the pumpkin juice. "Yaxley's pretrial is coming up soon, so of course everyone's running around trying to remember all the bad things he did eight years ago --"

"It's important work, Gin," George said hoarsely, looking away. He paused, just slightly, which meant that Fred would have added his input then. "I know I couldn't do it. I'd be too tempted to..." He shrugged and didn't finish his thought. He didn't finish many thoughts these days.

Everyone else greeted her warmly when she entered the front room with him. "Aunt Ginny, Aunt Ginny!" came the cries from the children, and Teddy, Victoire, Anton, and Hugo came barreling towards her for a group hug.

"Look at all of you!" Ginny exclaimed, gazing fondly at her nieces and nephews. "You've all grown a foot since I saw you last."

"You look great, Gin," all of her brothers said, as they took turns embracing her. Her father agreed. "Nice to see my little girl looking so smart," he said, grinning proudly.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about," she said, chuckling, as she settled herself on the couch beside Hermione, who cradled baby Rose in her arms. "I'm not wearing any makeup, these clothes likely need to be washed --"

At that precise moment, La Marseillaise started pouring out of her trouser pocket, and Ginny realised that she had forgotten to leave her mobile phone behind at her flat. "Oops, I'll be right back!" she cried, jumping up and racing for the door as Fleur began absently singing along with the music: "_Allons enfants de la Patrie..._"

She had to run all the way out past the rear gate, beyond the magical wards that surrounded their home, before she could safely answer her phone. "Yeah, hello?" Ginny said, panting slightly.

"Gin, there you are."

A ridiculous grin spread immediately across her face. "Hey you. How are things at the restaurant?"

"Mr Grayson is about to have a stroke," Draco said dryly, and she could picture him rolling his eyes. "Bloody two of the line cooks have fallen ill, so I'm trying to expedite _and_ cook filet mignon at the same time. The chef, Monsieur Dubois, is even back here, and he hasn't done an entree in years. It's a bloody circus." A long-suffering sigh came across the phone. "And now Grayson's saying he has just cause to believe that we're going to lose a star, so we're all just... Bah, it's bad." He chuckled. "I want to hear some really, really good news right about now."

"Well...I'm off early on Thursday."

"Fantastic. I don't have to go in until later that night, as it turns out. And I know just what we'll do."

"I look forward to it."

"Right, well I'm getting dirty looks from the waiters, so I've got to dash. I miss you."

She still received an electric jolt each time he said that, so there was a brief pause before she echoed, "I miss you too. Bye."

"See you Friday." He ended the call.

Ginny floated back to the Burrow, where everyone was seating themselves for dinner in the crowded kitchen. They all turned and regarded her in shock.

"You've got a boyfriend!" Hermione exclaimed. The kitchen veritably exploded after that.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" Ron demanded.

"Can I see your _mobble_ _fone_?" Mr Weasley asked eagerly. "I want to figure out how you talk into it."

"Iz he French?" Fleur said. "Only your phone sings La Marseillaise, so I theenk he iz."

"You knew already, didn't you?" Bill said, nudging Percy, who was calmly helping himself to Mrs Weasley's chicken and ham pie.

"My confidence, once given, is never broken," Percy declared pompously.

"All right, yes," Ginny cried, "I have a boyfriend, he's not French, and I didn't say anything because I knew you'd all react like this!"

"You're lucky Harry's not here," Ron said.

"I'm not Harry's property, thanks very much," Ginny said darkly. "And it just so happens that I really like this bloke, so Harry can go --"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence," Mrs Weasley scolded, rapping Ginny's knuckles with her wooden spoon. "But you have my blessings, dear."

Ginny gaped. "I have -- _what_?"

"It's perfectly normal to want to see other people," she said, dumping a large portion of the chicken and ham pie onto George's plate, "especially when you're at a confusing point in your life. You'll realise, once you've seen what other men are out there, that you and Harry are meant to be."

Percy's eyes met Ginny's across the room. He gave her a rueful half-grin and slight shrug of his shoulders, even as Ginny's own shoulders sagged in frustration. There was absolutely no getting through to her, was there?

She avoided all of their more probing questions for the rest of the night, refusing to say anything more about her mystery boyfriend, but by the time she was back at the Ministry Monday morning Harry had learned about Draco as well. "I didn't know you were seeing someone else," he grumbled.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, should I have asked permission first?"

"No, that's not -- I mean --"

"You should ask out Romilda Vane," Ginny suggested, as she went through the papers on her desk. "She undresses you with her eyes every time she looks at you."

Harry turned red. "I -- bloody hell, Ginny, I only came over here to ask if you would sit in for Angelina today. She's out with the flu."

"Sit in?" Ginny took notice at once. Was it possible that she wouldn't have to spend a day doing paperwork? "What for?"

"Since she was one who helped nab Yaxley, she's expected to be present at his pretrial," Harry said. "You're due in Courtroom Nine in about a half hour."

"Holy Merlin --" Ginny jumped up from her desk and raced over to Angelina's infinitely neater one, and started digging through Yaxley's criminal file. She had, as Harry had said, just thirty minutes to become intimately acquainted with every misdeed he had done or been accused of.

Half of the Wizengamot was arranging themselves in their seats when she arrived in the courtroom, and slid into a seat beside Romilda Vane and Danny O'Connell, the other two Aurors responsible for taking down Yaxley. Romilda gave her a rather cool look and turned away; Danny grinned cheerfully.

Not a few moments after Ginny entered, the far door opened and out came Yaxley, dressed in ragged, filthy robes, frog marched between two bulky and imposing guards. Yaxley sneered arrogantly at the Wizengamot, even as he sat in the wooden chair at the centre of the room and thick chains wrapped tightly around him.

"Ophiuchus Canis Yaxley, you are brought before the highest court in the land to determine your guilt in crimes ascribed to your name," Kingsley Shacklebolt declared, from his seat at the front of the court. Around him, the depleted Wizengamot settled down and paid the accused rapt attention. "Once guilt or innocence is ascertained, you will be tried before a full court at a later date, where you will be able to defend yourself by any means we of the Wizengamot deem necessary and prudent. Is this agreeable to the court?" Murmurs and nods ran through the assembled. "Then we shall begin.

"Mr Yaxley, how do you answer to the charge that you did knowingly and willingly join the ranks of the so-called Death Eaters, once known as the Knights of Walpurgis, with the intent to harm Muggles, Muggle-borns, and pureblooded witches and wizards not sympathetic to the cause of the leader, the late Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

Yaxley leered at him. "Guilty as the day I was born," he said mockingly.

Kingsley raised a single eyebrow. "Your lack of remorse is disturbing," he said, in his deep, slow voice. "There are some who thought we should merely throw you in Azkaban without a trial, and I'm beginning to wonder if we should as well."

"He is a Wizarding citizen," a portly older man wheezed to Kingsley's left. "No matter how heinous his crimes, he must be tried." There were mutters of agreement throughout the Wizengamot, but some grimly shook their heads.

"Then may it be recorded that Mr Yaxley admits to being a member of the Death Eaters, a malicious organisation formed with the purpose to harm and kill," Kingsley said, and the court scribe noted it on his scroll. "Mr Yaxley, how do you answer to the charge that..."

The pretrial seemed interminable to Ginny, who soon realised that she really wasn't needed for any practical purposes; her presence was simply a formality. Despite her boredom, however, Ginny found herself becoming more and more horrified at what the wizard below her had done in his long and malevolent career as one of Tom Riddle's lackeys. The list of charges went on and on: tortures, murder, the Imperius, theft, impersonation, magical experimentation without proper licensing or permission -- the Death Eaters had evidently been quite busy when not attending to their lord.

Romilda jabbed a sharp elbow into Ginny's side when she began nodding off, and Ginny gave her a grateful smile which was only returned with a stony glare. Ginny rolled her eyes and turned back towards Yaxley just in time to hear a very curious accusation.

"Mr Yaxley," Kingsley said yet again, "how do you answer to the charge that you are responsible for the murder of Colin Marcus Creevey, an underage student of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Yaxley snorted. "No, that one wasn't me."

The courtroom became perfectly still, for up to that point, Yaxley had replied in the affirmative to every other charge. Kingsley stared down at him, appearing as calm and serene as usual, but around him the other members of the Wizengamot were exchanging surprised and incredulous looks. "You are certain of your innocence in this?" Kingsley said slowly. "An eyewitness claims he saw you casting the spell that inevitably ended the Creevey boy's life."

Yaxley laughed. "I watched it happen," he boasted. "I watched that disgusting Mudblood get what he deserved for stealing magic." He strained forwards suddenly, held back by his chains, and he appeared possessed as he screamed, "Magic's ours to use, not theirs! Never theirs!"

Several members of the Wizengamot cried out in protest against this, but Kingsley held up his hand and they quieted. "There will be order in this courtroom," he said, eyeing them all. "So, Mr Yaxley, you will maintain your innocence in the case of the Creevey boy's murder?"

"Course I will," Yaxley said, sitting back. "The Malfoy boy's the one that killed him, isn't he?"


	10. Lightning Rod

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

Please stop asking me to write longer chapters or update more frequently. I appreciate all the reviews I receive, and love that my fics seem to be popular, but remember that I'm doing this for fun, and writing fanfic is not my top priority. School is. -- cb

**Chapter Nine -- Lightning Rod**

Ginny thought her heart might have skipped a beat. Or several.

Just as before, Yaxley's declaration raised a murmur of discussion amongst the members of the Wizengamot, and O'Connell turned to Ginny with wide eyes. "Did you know about this?" he asked her softly.

She shook her head, still staring at Yaxley. "N-no -- he was never accused of -- I --"

"You speak, for purposes of clarification, of Draco Scorpius Malfoy, who has not been seen in the Wizarding world for the past eight years?" Kingsley was asking Yaxley.

"That's the one," Yaxley said. "I had to coach him through it, though, since he was ready to piss himself with fear. Conviction isn't something the Malfoys have much stock in," he added with a dark chuckle.

"Then Draco Malfoy killed Colin Creevey?"

"Isn't that what I've been saying?" Yaxley sounded angry now.

"Then let it be recorded that Draco Malfoy has been --"

She had to stop this immediately, _now. _"Don't believe a word of it," Ginny burst out suddenly, launching herself to her feet.

At once, every pair of eyes in the room was focussed on her. "Who is interrupting these pretrial proceedings?" asked the witch to Kingsley's right.

"G-Ginevra M. Weasley," Ginny said breathlessly, "the Auror on Mr Malfoy's case." At her sides, Romilda and O'Connell gave her incredulous looks.

More mutterings amongst the court. Yaxley studied her so closely that Ginny's skin began to crawl. "And you have reason to believe that Mr Yaxley is accusing the wrong man?" the witch continued.

Ginny nodded. "I've been on Malfoy's case for about four years now, and the crime he has been accused of here does not fit the pattern of the others. Harry Potter himself will attest to the fact that Malfoy is -- or, rather, was -- emotionally incapable of murder."

She knew she'd scored a small victory in mentioning Harry's name; nearly a decade after his defeat of Tom Riddle, it still carried great reverence in the Wizarding community. The older witches and wizards spoke amongst themselves, and she could almost hear what they were saying: "Well, if HarryPotter will vouch for him..."

Then Yaxley had to go and ruin it all. "I can prove he did it," he said, smirking at Ginny. "I was there, I have the memory of it. I remember the Mudblood lying on the ground, and Malfoy blubbering like a girl --"

"That is enough, Mr Yaxley," Kingsley said sharply. "Miss Weasley," he said, turning to her, "I understand your dedication to your case, but an official charge has been made. It will go on Draco Malfoy's record, and the Creeveys will be informed."

Ginny nodded wordlessly and sat down again, as the rest of the pretrial proceedings continued on in an inaudible blur. She missed the rest of the charges and instead stared down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. Romilda's stare weighed heavily on her, but Ginny could do nothing but think of Draco.

Draco the Muggle.

Draco the murderer.

When Kingsley declared the proceedings at an end, Ginny jumped out of her seat and left the courtroom before Romilda or O'Connell could even get to their feet. Ducking her head so that the people she passed in the corridor couldn't see her face, Ginny fumbled her way to the closest loo and locked herself inside the stall farthest from the door. Only then -- when she was relatively alone, and no one could hear her -- did she let fall the tears that had built behind her eyes. Ginny crumpled against the stall wall and slid to the tiled floor, clutching Yaxley's file to her chest, not even trying to wipe her wet cheeks.

She had to stop this all before she reached the point of no return. Part of her had wanted to find out what had happened to him by herself, so that she could present a full and detailed report when she turned him in. But now, now that she had been pulled in by his irresistible charm, and devastating smile, and had seen him happy and at peace and cared for, she was loath to destroy the seemingly perfect new life he had built for himself.

Part of her -- a significant part, no less -- kind of wanted to be involved in that perfect new life.

Ginny scrubbed her tears away and took several deep breaths. Now was the time. He had asked her out again on Thursday, so she would show up to their date with a hit wizard and take him down. No questions, no hesitations, no being ridiculous trying to protect him from the might of the Ministry. She was a professional, above all things, and he was a criminal. This was her duty.

She would get over him. It would take some time, true, but it was as simple as that. She would get over him. Really.

Decided, Ginny pulled herself back to her feet and left the stall, Glamouring away her puffy eyes and damp cheeks. She navigated her way through the maze of courtrooms until she reached the lift, then went up to the Department of Law Enforcement, where the hit wizard office was located.

The stern-looking wizard behind the main desk at Law Enforcement stared at her as Ginny approached. "How can I help you?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

"I have a lead on my suspect," Ginny said lightly, affecting nonchalance, "and plan to tail and apprehend him. He might be dangerous, so I'd like backup on call."

The wizard nodded and reached for a bright yellow parchment. "Fill out this form and someone will be assigned to you," he said; Ginny took the form and looked it briefly over. She had never had a case that required their services before, and it all seemed rather daunting. "Is this going to be an assassination or a live capture?"

Ginny shuddered at the word _assassination_. "He's to be taken alive," she said tremulously. "He needs to be tried for war crimes. I want him alive."

"Very well," the wizard said. "As I said, fill out the form and we'll find someone available to work with you. Know that once the target has been located and identified, the Auror must back off and let the hit wizard do the corner and capture. Once the hit wizard has control of the target, he or she will resummon the Auror and both will escort the target to the holding cells in the Department of Mysteries."

Ginny was sorely tempted, now that it had all been laid out, to retract her request. She couldn't subject Draco to that kind of humiliation; she just couldn't. The charges against him were conjecture and heresay anyway -- including this latest murder charge, since Harry had had Draco's wand during the final battle. Draco _couldn't_ have killed Colin Creevey, unless he was somehow capable of casting the Killing Curse wandlessly, and not even the most talented witch or wizard could do that.

But she knew she needed to use a hit wizard to bring Draco in. She had wanted to use one before she had found him, because she hadn't know if he would attack her or not. Now, she just knew that she wouldn't be able to arrest him by herself, for she would relent and let him go.

She thanked the wizard and took the form back to her workspace in Auror Headquarters, where she looked it over more closely. It asked for only the most basic information: her name, position, and Ministry employee code; the target's name, crime, danger rating (on a scale of one to five, five being the most dangerous), and picture; and the time of attack. The form actually used those exact words: _time of attack._ As though they were about to wage a small war on a faceless enemy, not a sous chef who liked to play rugby.

The hit wizard office, unlike the Auror Department, was surprisingly efficient. Ginny turned in her completed form late Monday, and by the time she left the Ministry Tuesday evening, an experienced hit wizard -- hit witch, more accurately -- had been assigned to Draco's case.

Unfortunately, however, the hit wizard office also contained a chronic gossip, and word somehow reached the _Daily Prophet _that Draco Malfoy might have come out of hiding. Ginny rejected all the Floo calls from Rita Skeeter that had peppered the day, and was grateful to Ron for manually tossing the vile woman from the Ministry when he saw her try to slip what had turned out to be a strong mix of Veritaserum and Involuntary Conversation Concoction into Ginny's tea. Nevertheless, despite their best efforts, the Tuesday evening edition of the _Prophet_ contained the eye-catching headline _Malfoy Heir Returns to Wizarding Society?, _followed by an extremely flattering picture of Draco at seventeen, taken on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. The article itself was pulp journalism at its worst, painting a picture of Malfoy as a stereotypical millionaire bad boy, a rebel with a devil-may-care attitude -- and the Wizarding world's most eligible bachelor.

"This must have at least some basis in truth," Harry said, just before Ginny went home for the night. "Do you really know where Malfoy is?"

"There've been some sightings," Ginny said evasively. "I've got a very strong hunch I know how to find him."

"But that's brilliant!" he said, looking pleased. "You've managed to do in just a few months what two Aurors couldn't figure out in four years. If I can manage it -- and I'm sure I can -- reckon I could work out a pay raise for you, Gin. The Auror Department will get phenomenal press if you can bring in Malfoy."

Ginny forced herself to smile. "That sounds great Harry," she said, before bidding him goodnight and Apparating back to her flat.

Thursday came far too quickly. She had been dreading and longing for this day for what felt like years, so when she woke to her alarm blasting out "Into the Sun" on the WWN, she lay in bed for awhile, unwilling to get up. This was it. Draco would be arrested by this time the next day. It would all be over.

She worked automatically throughout the day, filling out paperwork, chatting with Angelina -- who was better but still getting over her bout of the flu -- and doing more paperwork. Harry was in rare form, giving smiles to everyone, including Romilda Vane, who boldly threw him a sultry and seductive grin in full view of the office. They were all, of course, well aware that Romilda was desperate to sink her claws into the Boy Who Lived; they were just surprised she would be so open about it.

Percy, as was to be expected these days, was the only one to notice Ginny's anxiety.

He pressed another cup of tea into her hands as they sat together at lunch. "You look like you need it," he said shrewdly.

Ginny sighed but smiled her thanks. "Yeah, I -- I'm doing my first arrest in a long time later today. I suppose I'm just worried I'm out of practice, and nervous that something'll go wrong."

"Then it's true?" Percy asked softly. "You really did find Draco Malfoy?"

She nodded.

Percy gave a low whistle. "I can picture his trial now," he said. "They'll make it open to the public, of course, and it'll be a madhouse in there. He'll really be put through the wringer by the Wizengamot, since he avoided capture for so long... Merlin, it'll be bad."

Ginny's heart jumped to somewhere near her throat. "You really think so?" she said. "I mean, the charges are fairly light, so I don't see what the big deal is --"

"The big deal is that the Malfoys, just like during the first war against Tom Riddle, got away with barely a slap on the wrist," Percy explained darkly. "Most Death Eaters lost everything, they walked away without so much as a reprimand. By disappearing after the last battle, Draco made himself the perfect lightning rod for everyone who thinks that the Malfoys should have been punished. He's likely going to get everything that people believe his parents should have."

Ginny clenched her fists in her lap. "You don't think Lucius and Narcissa should have been sent to Azkaban, do you?"

Percy shrugged and moved around some of the food on his plate. "I don't know. Lucius Malfoy did a lot of terrible things -- well, you know that for yourself -- and Narcissa didn't stop him. All the same, though, where did most of the money for the Rebuilding come from? The Malfoy family coffers. It's almost entirely thanks to Lucius Malfoy that the Wizarding community was able to get back on its feet so quickly after the war."

She was numb. Percy couldn't be right, he was just guessing -- but Percy's guesses were usually correct, especially when it came to the law. "Then what do you think Draco will get?" she asked in a hollow voice.

Percy shrugged again. "Even if it turns out he didn't kill Creevey -- ten to fifteen years in Azkaban. And that would be taking into consideration Narcissa Malfoy's terminal illness, since that's bound to make the Wizengamot sympathetic to the family. Still, though," he added, shaking his head, "there are a lot of people out there who would love to see the Malfoys get their just desserts. Draco is their opportunity."

"It won't be that clear-cut, though," she whispered. "There's something wrong with Draco."

Percy frowned. "How do you mean? You've spoken with him?"

"He didn't run," she said, not hearing him. "He could have the moment he saw me, but he didn't. I have a feeling this won't be as easy as some think it will be."

Percy sighed. "Trials rarely are."


	11. On Top of the World

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Ten -- On Top of the World**

Ginny had been waiting for Thursday for ages, so the days had simply flown by. Conversely, now that Thursday had arrived, it felt as though each second was an hour, each hour another day passing. After saying good-bye to Percy following their joint lunch hour, she was all too aware that she had to rendezvous with the hit witch at four, just before she left the Ministry. Draco had asked her to meet him at his flat at quarter-after. He wouldn't say what they were doing or where they were going, but Ginny was torn between wanting him to take her somewhere private like a tiny cafe, or to a place like Piccadilly Circus, which was always horrendously busy and packed with tourists.

In the midst of her inward reflections, Romilda strolled towards her desk. Ginny frowned up at her from her seat. It just wasn't fair that Romilda looked like she'd walked off the pages of _Wizarding Quarterly_, while Ginny looked like a Hogwarts student masquerading as an adult witch.

"Look," Romilda said, glancing around. No one was close enough to hear them, or try to. "I've got something I want to say."

Ginny blinked, a much-needed smile coming to her lips. She had a fairly good idea what this could be about.

"I really like Harry," Romilda said. "And I think he's interested in me as well."

"Really," Ginny said. Well that was curious. Ginny wasn't sure if Harry even knew how to flirt or show his interest in someone of the opposite sex. Merlin knew one of the failings of their relationship had been that he simply wouldn't show her how he was feeling at any given time.

"Really," Romilda said, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "So I just wanted to let you know that I plan to ask him out. I'm not asking permission, I'm just making you aware of it."

Ginny snickered. "Romilda. _Darling_ girl. I could care less about who Harry dates. Honestly, I really think you shouldtake him out, because Merlin knows he needs a hobby."

The younger witch couldn't hide her look of genuine surprise. "Er -- thanks," she said, before recovering her cool. "I mean, have a nice night. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, she spun on her heel and headed back to her desk.

Confused by her words, Ginny looked up at the little clock that hung on the wall above her own workspace. It was already half past three. She had to meet up with her hit witch in just thirty minutes.

An hour from now, she would be with Draco.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached her shortly before she left to meet with Lynn, while Ginny was packing up her bag. "Good luck," Ron said, giving her a hug. "I know you're more than capable of bringing the bastard down."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded.

"What, the kids can't hear me," he shot back. "Anyway -- I'm so proud of you, Ginny. This case will be a huge triumph for us all."

"I know," Ginny said, nodding. She hoped they couldn't hear the tremor in her voice.

"Don't forget to go exactly by the book," Harry warned. "List his rights immediately, tell him what he's being arrested for, everything. I won't have the department go to all this trouble just for Malfoy to get off on a technicality."

"I won't forget."

"Be careful," Hermione said, biting her lip. She threw her arms around Ginny and hugged her. "If anything happened to you I don't know what I'd do."

Ginny chuckled weakly, hugging her back. "I'll be fine, really," she said, looking at the three of them. She picked up her bag and swung it over her shoulder. "The next time you see me, another criminal will be behind bars."

Harry grinned. "That's the spirit."

Ginny's footsteps echoed in the corridor as she made her way to the hit wizard office, as most people were still in their offices, not yet leaving for the day. A dry sob escaped her lips, but Ginny quickly smothered it into her sleeve and took deep breaths. _I'm a professional. I'm doing my job._ She repeated this mantra over and over, hoping it would stick.

A surprisingly sweet-faced witch awaited her when she arrived at the predetermined meeting place. She gave Ginny a wide smile and extended her hand, which Ginny shook. "I'm Lynn Hargreaves," she said. "I'll be assisting you with your live capture this afternoon."

"Ginny Weasley, pleased to meet you," Ginny muttered.

"Have you ever used a hit witch or wizard on your cases before?" Lynn wanted to know.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm not given very many cases," she explained. "The last target I apprehended was an old warlock who flew a broomstick through Hampstead Heath. A hit wizard wasn't necessary."

Lynn laughed. "No, I can see why not. But today's target is Draco Malfoy, isn't it? That's a very important case."

"I suppose so," Ginny said.

"Right." Lynn clasped her delicate hands together. "Here's what we're going to do today." She handed Ginny a small blue badge, then showed that she had a matching one in her pocket. "These badges have the Protean Charm cast on them," she said. "When you find the target -- Mr Malfoy -- you'll tap the badge --" she did so "-- and it will turn red. Mine will as well, and that's my signal to come to wherever you are to secure the target. If you can't find the target but suspect he's on the run, turn the badge yellow, and I'll come help look for him. If the target cannot be found and you have no idea where he is, turn the badge violet, which is the sign that the capture has been aborted. Do you anticipate much trouble with Mr Malfoy today?"

Ginny shook her head, suddenly unable to speak.

"Excellent!" Lynn said cheerily. "Then here's your badge, and here's mine, and we're all ready!"

Ginny went back to her flat first, changing into a light green sundress, then put her wand and Lynn's badge at the bottom of her bag. Her heart was pounding hard enough to leap right out of her chest, and she had to drink some water to rid herself of her lightheadedness. This was it. She was really going to do it.

She took a deep breath, and Disapparated to Earl's Court.

Draco had given her his address and directions from the Tube station -- as he obviously assumed she would come by the Underground -- and Ginny easily found his street, lined with uniform red-brick townhouses with neat white trim. She spotted his car parked at the kerb first, then went up the steps and rang the bell at number fifty-six.

Loud music came from the back, but it cut almost immediately after the bell rang, and Ginny heard footsteps padding towards the door. It opened, and she found Simon looking dazedly back at her, wrapped in a fluffy blue dressing gown with a crumpled tissue clutched in one hand.

"Ach," he said thickly, "are you being the naughty nurse John hired for me?"

Ginny smiled. "It's me, Simon," she said. "Ginny Beesley? I'm here to see Ben."

Simon sneezed. "Bother," he said. "An after ah claimed prima nocta an all..." He shuffled away and left the door standing open; Ginny took it as an invitation to enter.

"Gin? Is that you?" Draco's voice floated down the stairs.

"Et's her or a very clever impersonator," Simon called back. "Me money's on the first."

The floorboards above their heads creaked, and then Draco thundered down the stairs, heartbreaking in faded jeans and a white polo shirt. "Hello, love," he greeted her warmly. Before she knew what she was doing, Ginny had gone right to him and pulled him into a deep, scorching kiss that left them both breathless.

"I missed you," Ginny whispered. She was unable to keep the waver out of her voice, and she knew he had heard it.

"I missed you, too," Draco said, his eyes darker than usual.

"Good God, ef ah wanted ta see that sort of thing, ahve got videos in me room," Simon complained.

Draco frowned in his direction. "Oh, go back to your self-pity and Take That albums, Kinky. You're too sick to do much else."

Simon pouted. "Doan knock Take Tha," he cried.

"Seriously, mate, you can barely stand --"

"Right, ahm goan. Have fun on your date." He started shuffling back down the corridor.

"Get back to good, Kinky," Draco called back, smirking in amusement.

"They just have nae been the same since Robbie left," Simon muttered, shaking his head, and he wandered towards the back of the flat.

The moment they stepped onto the front stoop and shut the door behind them, Draco turned to her. "It's wonderful to see you again," he said, "but are you all right, Gin?"

She smiled a little. "Now I am." He took her hand and led her towards the Tube station.

Gentleman that he was, he swiped his Oyster card twice at the turnstile to pay for train fare for the both of them, even though he still refused to say where they were going. They alighted at Westminster Station, and Draco led her across the Bridge, the London Eye looming to their left on the south bank. "Ever been up there?" he asked, nodding towards it.

"No," Ginny admitted.

"Perfect. Because that's where we're headed. Once you get to the top, you can see for miles and miles around." Draco picked up his step slightly, and Ginny followed suit. "London is spread out beneath you, and especially now, in the late afternoon with the sun on its way down... God, there can't be a sight more beautiful." He paused to wink at her. "Except for you, I suppose," he amended cheekily.

A lump came to Ginny's throat, and she couldn't swallow it down. Every moment she spent with him, every time he grinned at her or winked or held her hand -- it made it harder and harder for her to gather the nerve to put him behind bars.

_I have no choice, _she told herself, as tears sprang to her eyes. _No choice at all._

There were few people waiting in line when they arrived in the Jubilee Gardens, so Draco was able to quickly pay for their tickets and usher her into one of the giant capsules. The group of noisy tourists behind them stepped into another capsule, so they were completely alone.

This was it. This was her chance. While Draco described all the buildings and landmarks they would be able to see, and their capsule started slowly rotating up towards the top of the observation wheel, Ginny began to dig through all the junk in her bag, until she reached the bottom and had two things in her trembling hands: her wand, and the blue badge Lynn had given her.

All she had to do was turn it red. One tap, and Lynn would Apparate to her in thirty seconds flat to Stun Draco and "secure the target." The Malfoys would have their son back, Harry would have his spectacularly scandalous criminal trial, and she would receive a pay raise for a job well done.

_This is my duty_. _I have to do this._

_I _have_ to._

"What are you looking for?" Draco asked her in an amused tone. "Bloody hell, have you got a Sainsbury's in there?"

Ginny looked up at him, her watery eyes wide and haunted, and the faint smile sank away from his face. "Are you sure you're all right, love?" he asked quietly, reaching out to touch her upper arm. A sob escaped her lips, and the next moment she found her cheek pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

"It's all right, Gin," he said. "Everything is fine."

_If only you knew_, she thought miserably. "I had a bad day at work," she garbled through her tears. She grabbed her wand inside her bag and tapped the badge once, then wrapped her arms around Draco's waist. "I've been looking forward to seeing you so much..."

"I counted the days," he said, chuckling. "But everything's fine now."

He held her until her shoulders stopped shaking with sobs, and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Better?"

Ginny nodded and offered him a smile. "Much, thanks," she said softly.

"Look, we're almost to the top." She looked past him and found it was just as he had described: the city of London, laying beneath them in all her antique and modern splendour, stretching for miles in either direction. It was marred only by the narrow cerulean ribbon that was the Thames, meandering lazily amidst the urban sprawl. The sun hung low in the sky, and created a gilded affect on the buildings it touched, as Draco pointed them out to her: St Paul's; the Tower Bridge; Canary Wharf.

"Amazing, isn't it?" he breathed. "I come here when I've been stressed a lot -- like recently -- because... I dunno, it has such a calming effect, being up here."

"It's lovely," Ginny agreed, admiring the way his silver eyes shone. She peeked down into the bottom of her bag.

She had turned the badge purple. Lynn wouldn't be coming tonight after all.

"Close your eyes."

She snapped her bag shut. "I beg your pardon?"

He smirked at her, in that eerie way that reminded her that, under everything, he really was still Draco Malfoy. "I have a present for you, but you can't look."

Ginny pretended to study him suspiciously, but she at last relented and closed her eyes. "There," she said, smiling, "now where's my --"

Her words cut off, for at that moment she felt Draco's arms around her waist, and his mouth had descended onto hers in an intense, searing kiss. She pulled him closer, fingers tangled in his shaggy hair, until there was no space left, not a breath separating them.

Because they were absolutely mad if they thought Ginny would give up Draco. Give up _this._

"Well?" he said, his forehead against hers. "Good present?"

"The best," Ginny murmured, before pulling him closer and kissing him again.


	12. Blast From the Past

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Eleven -- Blast from the Past**

To say that Harry was put out when Ginny returned to the Ministry empty-handed was putting it mildly. For three days he raged up and down the office, slamming his door behind him, snapping undeservedly at Terry Boot or Danny O'Connell, and he completely refused to acknowledge Ginny's presence.

"What happened?" Ron asked her privately, three days after her London Eye date with Draco.

"He saw me and ran," Ginny said. She had had plenty of time to work out a story that sounded plausible. "I tried to chase after him, but he must have cast some Confundus and Untraceable Charms because I couldn't track him at all."

"Does he know you're after him, or think it was a random sighting?"

"I don't think he knows," Ginny said. "I was careful."

Perhaps out of defiance -- or maybe there was some part of her that had a death wish -- Ginny spent increasingly more and more of her time with Draco over the next few weeks. She left work early, sometimes took entire days off, and they couldn't fault her for it: Aurors could have up to four weeks off per year, so she took particular delight in using up her vacation days if it meant she got to see Draco's beautiful face for a few more hours each day. Besides that, they all thought she was merely redoubling her efforts to catch him. It was a win-win situation.

She and Draco got up early one morning and he took her to the market, where he was responsible for purchasing fresh meat and seafood for the restaurant where he worked. She watched raptly as he bartered with the merchants and visually inspected each and every fillet he selected for purchase, adoring the way he looked so serious and focussed. Another day, they spent hours in Kew Gardens taking silly pictures of each other with Draco's curious Muggle camera. He took her to his favourite cafe -- his favourite because of their out-of-this-world gelato, as he put it -- and to all the tourist traps he could find, once Ginny fudged the facts and told him that she had only just moved to London and wasn't very familiar with it. She dined in his restaurant whenever she could, and John and Simon would bring their partners along as well. It was like they had already been friends for years.

Ginny had never felt this way before, or at least hadn't in a long, long time. The mere sight of him -- as he walked up the road to meet her in various places, when she opened the door to find him on her front stoop -- was enough to send her heart up to her throat and a joyous smile to her lips. Their hands interlocked perfectly, like matching puzzle pieces, and when he held her the angles of his wiry body accommodated hers as though they were meant to fit together. The few times Ginny went into work to catch up on paperwork or follow up with other minor cases, Angelina and O'Connell would tease her mercilessly about how her feet barely seemed to touch the ground when she walked.

And the best part was that it wasn't just her. She would catch Draco looking at her sometimes, when they were out doing whatever, and he would smile and look away, but moments later he was staring again.

"What?" she said, during one of their excursions to get gelato. She was going through the list of flavours with him, and tonight they both had coconut. "Is there something on my face?"

"Yeah, just --" He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth, darting out his tongue to swipe at an imaginary bit of gelato there. Ginny giggled at him, feeling like a teenager out on her very first date.

Later that same night as they lay snogging on her sofa, he stopped suddenly and stared down at her, his eyes dark and intense. "This isn't too fast for you?" he said, breathing hard.

Ginny sat up against the arm of the sofa, never breaking his gaze. "I don't --"

"It's just -- I've dated a lot of girls in the past," he said, now sitting upright as well. "But, well -- I --" He laughed at himself and ran his hands through his deliciously mussed hair. "We've been seeing each other, what, little more than a month?"

"Something like that," Ginny murmured, surprised that so little time had passed.

He looked at her again, and she felt like she was drowning in his eyes. "It's never been this -- so -- I don't _know_. After a month, I'm usually still trying to figure out if I like the girl." He shook his head and looked down at his hands.

"I'm not sure myself," she said. After dating Harry for a month, had she felt half of what she felt now? "But you're not rushing anything. I -- I fancy you like mad, you have to know that." Then, inhaling quickly, she went on, "I think I'm falling for you."

The room went completely still, and for one horrifying instant Ginny worried that she had destroyed it all. No more sweet kisses at random moments, no more holding his hand as they ate supper together. But then he turned to her with that goofy grin -- the best of all his grins and smiles -- and said softly, "Yeah. Me as well."

Ginny gaped at him as something occurred to her, and smacked his arm. "You tosser! You were just waiting for me to say it so that you didn't have to!"

Draco smirked and pulled her into his lap. "Ah, she has learned of my evil plot!" he cried. "Am I to be punished?"

"Most exquisitely," Ginny promised, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with all the strength of her ardour.

"My favourite brand of torture," he murmured into her hair, kissing a trail across her cheek and down her throat. "I'm completely mad about you, Gin."

"Yeah, me as well," she whispered back, grinning.

And yet each time they reached points like these, when it seemed that nothing could go wrong and nothing could keep them apart, something would jump up and sharply remind her that their entire relationship was based on a farce and a lie.

After putting in a partial day at the Ministry one afternoon, Ginny raced to Draco's flat. They had made plans to go to see a show in the West End, and Ginny was looking forward to being with him. She had let herself into his flat, needing to feel his arms around her, when she realised that the voice coming from the kitchen was tense with anger.

"How dare you accuse me of slipping like that. I have given nothing but my best to Sam Grayson for six bloody years --"

Ginny, biting her lip, tiptoed to the back of the flat to the kitchen, where she found Draco practically spitting into the phone, looking ready to kill. He was so absorbed in his conversation that he didn't notice the small whimper that escaped the back of her throat, nor that she clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle it.

Draco had his other hand in his hair, holding it back from his patrician face, and it was like seeing him from Hogwarts all over again. She remembered now that he had always had his hair slicked out of the way then -- and seeing him now, looking so similar, sent her on an unwilling trip down memory lane. This was the boy who had tormented them so as children. It was really him.

"Then the blame rests with the courier, not with me," Draco hissed, eyes flashing in his fury. "Those spare ribs were perfect when I saw them this morning."

His voice -- it had always sounded the same to her, but now, with that chilling note of rage in it, it was exactly the same as it had been. This was Draco Malfoy. The Death Eater-in-Training, the criminal who had tried to kill Dumbledore, had almost killed Ron, and might have killed Colin Creevey.

"The swordfish is still good," Draco insisted, his tone rising. "I don't understand why we can't just make that the featured -- no, _don't_ talk over me, I'm trying to fix what someone else fucked up!"

Without warning, something shattered nearby, and Ginny jumped what felt like a foot into the air. She turned and jumped again when she saw John standing behind her, a broken glass on the workspace.

"Slipped from my fingers," he said.

"Scared me," she replied, smiling hesitantly. For a moment, she had been certain that Draco had finally performed a surge of wild magic.

Draco hung up the phone a few minutes later, muttering foul words under his breath. "Sorry you had to hear that," he said, his voice still a bit frosty. "I don't tolerate incompetence."

"What happened?" John asked, grabbing a paper towel to sweep up the broken glass.

"That was Andrew, a line cook. The ribs I bought at the market this morning arrived at the kitchen rotten." As he spoke, the harsh set of his face softened until gradually, he was his new self again. "Everything else is fine, though, and I know we'll have enough for tonight's crowd. We always do."

"Sam's lucky to have you," John said. The glass was dumped into the rubbish bin. "Though he'll probably file a complaint with Uncle Peter if you're being blamed."

"Your boss knows John's uncle?" Ginny said, confused.

"Yeah, they, er --" Draco cleared his throat. "They were at uni together. John's uncle helped me get my first job with Grayson." An odd look passed between Draco and John then, with John asking a silent question and Draco shaking his head slightly. Ginny's mind spun wondering what was going on.

"But look, I've got dreadful news," Draco continued, reaching for Ginny's hand and twining her fingers with his own. "Tony Blair's making a surprise visit with his family, so I have to get to the restaurant early to prepare. We won't be able to see that show tonight."

Ginny supposed she was meant to know who Tony Blair was, but she was too worried about what she had just seen to concern herself with making a fitting reaction. "That's all right," she said. "We're still going down to Brighton this weekend, right?"

"Of course, love." Draco bent and brushed his lips against hers, seemingly uncaring that John was in the same room. "I'm terribly sorry about all this."

"It's your job, don't worry. I'll survive a day without you," she teased.

"Don't know if we can say the same for Ben here," John said, smirking.

"Nosey Parker," Draco shot back, playfully shoving him.

Even though their plans were ruined, Ginny tried to stay optimistic. She told Draco she'd see him bright and early on Saturday, and wished him luck that evening without his prime ribs.

"Andrew likes to exaggerate, I'm sure everything's fine," Draco assured her, as he walked her to the front door. "I wouldn't be surprised if the ribs weren't rotten in the least."

"Perfectionists can drive you mad," she agreed.

"Well, I'm a perfectionist myself, so I can't blame him too much," he said with a laugh. "I just hide it better, I suppose."

He kissed her in the foyer, and they said their goodbyes. Ginny went slowly down his front steps and down his street, trying to figure out what had happened during Draco's phone conversation. Something just didn't add up with John having dropped a glass, and the more she thought about it the more she found fault with his explanation. Draco had been alone in the kitchen when she arrived; how had John managed to walk in behind her without her hearing him?

She frowned as she stopped at a corner to wait for the light to cross the street. Using her memory, honed from years of mentally reconstructing crime scenes and piecing together verbal testimony, she recreated the scene in the kitchen. John had moved too quickly. Too silently -- unless he had been in the downstairs loo? But she didn't remember seeing the light on under the door...

And for another thing -- how had a glass slipped from his hands when the cupboard hadn't even been opened?

Ginny had made it all the way down Earl's Court Road before she heard someone calling her name. As she had been reaching for her wand, making ready to duck between two shops to Apparate, she was caught completely off-guard and withdrew her hand from her purse at once. She turned and found John Palmer jogging towards her.

"What is it, John?" she asked.

"The answer is yes," he said, out of breath.

Ginny blinked. "What?"

"He doesn't know," he went on, as though he hadn't heard her. "He doesn't know anything."

"Know what? John --"

"I can't say, that's for him to tell you. And he will, that's why he's taking you to Brighton on Saturday."

Ginny's eyes were wide, her heart banging in her chest like a stampeding hippogriff. "Tell me what?" she cried. "What the hell is going on?"

He only gave her a curious, unreadable look. "Have you ever heard of Tony Blair?"

"I -- I suppose he's -- but what does that have to do with Draco?"

John gave her a reassuring smile. "He'll tell you everything in Brighton," he said, stepping away. He was already turning to leave. "The answer is yes. He broke that glass, not me."

It was only when he started back down the street, calm and unhurried, that Ginny realised she had used Draco's real name.

And John hadn't batted an eye.


	13. The House of Malfoy

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Twelve -- The House of Malfoy**

Draco's case file practically doubled overnight, for Ginny had filled scroll after scroll with her theories and interpretations of John's mysterious parting words. There were, she reasoned, essentially four important things that could be gleaned from the precious few crumbs he had tossed to her:

One, that Draco had performed an uncontrolled spurt of wild magic. His powers had not been drained from lack of use or suppressed somehow; he was still a wizard.

Two, that Draco was, as she had suspected, suffering from amnesia and really had no idea who she was.

Three, that she was at last going to find out how Draco had gone from Hogwarts to London, from being a prominent pureblooded wizard to an unimportant Muggle, without anyone ever uncovering him.

And four, that John Palmer most certainly knew she was a witch.

She kicked herself repeatedly over that last one. That evening she had managed to slip the question into conversation with Percy, who had come over to ask her advice on what he should get his partner Tricia for her birthday.

"Seriously, Gin?" Percy said, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Tony Blair is the Muggle Prime Minister, he came to the position shortly before Dumbledore died. I've met him on several occasions for dinner with the Minister of Magic, he's a quite genial fel-- you _really_ had no idea who he was?"

"Sorry, but it's never come up in conversation," Ginny shot back, while inwardly she knew that she had messed up royally.

John Palmer either was himself a wizard or was in contact somehow with the Wizarding world. That much was clear. Ginny confessed to herself that she hadn't really paid him much heed since being introduced to him at O'Neill's -- like Draco, he was often outshone by the antics of their other roommate, Simon Kincaid. He could easily have performed some small magic right in front of her, and she wouldn't have noticed for being dazzled by Simon's humour and Draco's...well, just Draco. At the rate things were going, she wouldn't be surprised if it turned out Simon was a wizard as well; that would at least explain why Draco was so comfortable with the two of them. That, however, was the last thing she needed right now, what with this case snowballing out of control.

So John knew she was a witch, now that she had failed to do her bloody homework and actually learn something important about Muggles besides statistics for the bloody West Ham Football Club. Had he blown the whistle on her yet? Should she expect a phone call from Draco any minute now, with him calling her a freak? And why did they need to go to Brighton for Draco to tell her his story? What was there? Or, perhaps, who was there? John's uncle had something to do with this as well, but how exactly Ginny wasn't sure --

She lowered her head to her desk, groaning with aggravation. _Low priority my arse_, she thought nastily. The low priority status, in Harry's own version of Auror triage, meant that the case could be done by anyone at any time, and was cut, dried, and solved quite easily. With everything she had learned the night before, this case was turning into an utter disaster. The kind that three Aurors would work full-time on, not just one Auror who wasn't even in favour with the head of the department.

Harry had something else coming if he thought he'd take her off this case, though. Ginny decided immediately, the moment it looked like the case was becoming bigger than anyone could have thought, that she would pretend everything was still fine and continue as usual. Harry likely wouldn't notice even if she didn't pretend, because Romilda had asked him out and the two of them were something else these days. Besides, the more she discovered about Draco, the greater the arsenal she would have when he came to trial.

Right?

She decided to go into work more often after her run in with John, so that she could avoid contact with him as much as possible until she knew where she stood. The very first day she came into the Auror department, Harry took her upper arm and escorted her bodily into his private office, shutting and locking the door behind them.

"Oh, you're talking to me again?" Ginny said mildly.

"You've been invited back to Malfoy Manor," he said, not bothering with niceties.

"Then Narcissa saw the articles in the _Prophet_, I suppose. You know that there's very little I can tell her that she probably hasn't already read. For all that we hate her, Skeeter actually got all the facts right in her last story."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So help me, Ginny, if you don't have any kind of news to give them about their son --"

"Wait, 'them'?" Ginny said, a sudden trickle of fear snaking down her spine. "But I only saw Narcissa in June."

"Well, Lucius will be there as well this time." Harry threw himself into the chair behind his desk. "From what I've heard, Narcissa is too weak to leave their house now, and he's by her side constantly."

Ginny shuddered noticeably. "Lucius Malfoy is the reason I had vivid nightmares about Tom Riddle for almost seven years," she said. "I won't see him."

"Already taken care of," Harry said. "Hermione made a special Calming Draught for you to take before you go to Malfoy Manor." When it looked like she would argue he waved his hand in dismissal. "The donation, Ginny. The Ministry needs the money. You have to at least do this, since you haven't caught Draco yet."

Ginny bristled, glaring daggers at him. "I've been working my arse off looking for him," she spat, "and if you can't --"

"I've got a meeting with the Head of Games and Sports in five minutes," Harry said, ignoring her and standing again. "Oliver Wood's favourite fan is back in action. I need to go."

Ginny folded her arms before her. "I thought seeing Romilda Vane would change you, but you're still the same stubborn prat as ever."

He narrowed his eyes. "My personal life isn't any of your business anymore, remember? You made that quite clear."

"And Merlin am I glad I left you when I could, you toerag. Very glad indeed." Without waiting for him to come up with a rebuttal, Ginny swept out of his office.

Luckily, Narcissa had asked for Ginny to come on Friday for luncheon, so there was no time conflict with her trip to Brighton with Draco. She went despite her misgivings about seeing Lucius Malfoy again, but took Hermione's Calming Draught along in her pocket and drank it soon after crossing through the gates outside Malfoy Manor. The albino peacock gazed at her unblinkingly as she passed.

The same little house elf she had seen on her last visit welcomed her at the door, but on this occasion they went up to the first floor, past paintings of rather sour-looking ancestors and famous wizards and witches. The entire manor felt still, empty, as though nothing lived or moved in it besides Ginny and her guide.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Mistress and Master is having lunch in Mistress's rooms," the house elf said in its squeaky voice. "Mistress is being so very poorly."

At last, they reached tall white double doors outlined in ornate carvings: twisting vines and delicate leaves framed the top and sides, detailed enough to look real. The house elf knocked on the door, and a deep man's voice responded from within. The house elf opened it and bowed and, steeling herself, Ginny walked into the room.

Neither of the Malfoys stood at her entrance. Narcissa was seated in an overstuffed armchair, her legs buried under numerous blankets and wraps, and beside her in a matching chair was Lucius, dressed solidly in black, one of his pale hands entwined with hers. His eyes, so like Draco's, were hard and flat, almost defiant, as he stared at Ginny. The bedroom itself was as magnificent as everything else she had seen in the manor, done in a shade of violet that was dark and soothing.

"Ah, Miss Weasley." Narcissa's voice was controlled and polite as ever, though it was hoarse now, weak. "How delighted we are that you could join us for lunch this afternoon."

"Thank you for inviting me," Ginny said. At least the Calming Draught was working.

She had perhaps never had a lunch quite like this one. When the house elf came bearing food and trays for them and they began to eat, Lucius refused to look or speak to Ginny, and Narcissa tried gamely to keep up a light and constant chatter. Their conversation was utterly meaningless: the weather, recent marriages, Narcissa's philanthropic work with the War Orphans Foundation. Ginny felt as though time had ground to a halt in this room, and she wondered idly if Lucius was filtering Narcissa's mail and news sources.

Once their plates had been taken away by yet more house elves, and some colour had returned to Narcissa's unusually pale form, they got down to business. "I have been reading the papers, Miss Weasley," Narcissa said, folding her hands in her lap. "They say that Draco has been found."

Ginny's heart lurched in her chest. "He has," she said. "I know where he is."

Lucius closed his eyes and bowed his head before turning to his wife; Ginny saw him squeeze her hand. A small smile had come to Narcissa's wasted face. "That is most excellent news," she breathed. "I was so worried that it was just another of those nasty rumours that Skeeter woman loves to publish --"

"If I had my way she'd be out of a job," Lucius spat abruptly. "The things she wrote about Draco --"

"Be calm, darling," Narcissa soothed. "This is cause to celebrate, not to despair. What exactly have you learned, Miss Weasley?"

"I've seen him many times --"

"How does he look?" Narcissa pressed, for the first time an anxious note creeping into her voice.

A lump came to Ginny's throat. "Wonderful," she said softly. "He's healthy, and he's been cared for."

Lucius raised Narcissa's hand to his lips and kissed it fiercely, as a tired laugh bubbled from her lips. "Did you hear that, darling?" she said to him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Our little boy is safe. He's wonderful."

"We knew he had to be," Lucius murmured. Ginny knew she was intruding on an intensely private moment, and she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

"Where have you seen him? Where is he?" Narcissa asked, after they had gathered themselves once again.

"I have reason to believe he is staying in London," Ginny said. "That's where he's spotted the most. I haven't made contact with him yet, since he's hardly ever alone, but --"

"Not alone?" Lucius said, frowning. "Who is he with?"

Ginny faltered. "Muggles," she whispered, and she winced at the disgusted looks on both Narcissa and Lucius's faces. "Well -- I'm not sure, actually -- I might have reason to believe that one is a wizard, but I just don't know --"

"When will he be returned to us?" Narcissa asked over her. "I want to see him. How quickly can you bring him here?"

"I-I don't know," Ginny said, wringing her hands, "there's a whole lot of Ministry protocol in criminal cases --"  
"You will bring him to us, Miss Weasley," Narcissa said, nodding. "Once you have him, have arrested him, whatever you need to do --" the tone of her voice showed just what she thought of Draco's criminal charges "-- you will bring him here and we will see him. Lucius will need to discuss with you then what's to be done about Draco's defence, we have a family solicitor whose services we have employed in the past."

Ginny nodded. "I'll do my best to get him soon," she said.

"How does the case look against him?" Lucius wanted to know. "Do you think he will be given a sentence?"

Ginny opened her mouth to answer truthfully -- to tell them that Percy thought Draco would get time in Azkaban, whether or not he had even done anything -- but then she happened to catch Lucius' eye. He raised his white eyebrows, barely, and shook his head. The gesture reminded her of Draco, and she swallowed her words. "I don't foresee anything of that nature," she said. "Everything should be fairly straightforward, Mrs. Malfoy. No trouble at all."

It wasn't until she had bid goodbye to Narcissa, and Lucius had offered to see her out, that Ginny gave him the facts as they were. "Ten to fifteen years in Azkaban," she said baldly. "The public will make him a scapegoat for the family and have no mercy on him."

"You will not tell Narcissa any of this," Lucius said. "She is not to be troubled by anything too taxing."

"Of course not," Ginny agreed.

He opened the front door for her himself, out onto the wide lane that led to the front gates.

"Bring back our son," he said, sounding as if he were giving her a command.

Ginny stepped out of the tomblike manor into the sunshine and he shut the door behind her.


	14. Heir of Nothing

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirteen -- Heir of Nothing**

Saturday dawned beautiful and clear, typical weather for an August day in London, and Ginny's heart rose as she thought of Brighton. In her mind's eye she could see the lush turquoise waters of the English Channel, feel underfoot the small tan rocks on the beach, taste the stringy rock candy, hear music from the arcade and carousel on the pier. Her parents had taken them all to Brighton once as children, but Ginny had been so young that her only memories of the place had that hazy, warm quality of recollections that are not necessarily real.

Draco greeted her with an affectionate kiss when she turned up on his front step. "I have a good feeling about today," he declared, letting her in while he finished his breakfast in the kitchen. "Today will be a good day."

Not a few moments in his presence, and already she was completely drawn in by him. "I don't think I've ever seen you having a bad day," she said.

The lines of his face relaxed, and he looked thoughtfully down at his plate of black pudding. "That's because it's been quite some time since the last one," he said. "They don't come as often anymore."

Ginny, who had no idea what would depress this new, happy-go-lucky version of Draco Malfoy, remained silent.

They packed his little car with snacks for the road and their overnight bags -- Ginny was particularly interested to see Draco's reaction when he saw her in the floral bikini she had bought a few days earlier. Then, saying goodbye to Simon, who was still in bed, they set off, navigating through London's haphazard streets at a frustratingly slow pace.

They chatted as they trudged through traffic, about anything that came to mind like they usually did. Somehow, as they drove through Wandsworth, they arrived on the topic of past partners. Ginny was especially amused at the thought of Draco willingly touching Muggle girls, but was more alarmed by the strong surge of jealousy that shot through her veins at the mention of each one. As she now expected, Draco didn't make any sign that he recognised Michael Corner and Dean Thomas' names.

"My last partner, Jane, was raving," Draco said bluntly, rolling his eyes. "I don't even know half of the reasons why I saw her, but I did, and for two months."

"Why was she raving?"

Draco laughed a little. "She thought she could change me. Now, I'm not against compromise in the name of stability in a relationship, but I like who I am, thanks very much. If I sometimes forget to put the seat down or prefer James Bond to Hugh Grant movies, then I'm sorry, you're just going to have to lie back and think of England."

There was a pause. Now it was her turn to tell him about her last boyfriend and, daringly, she decided not to make anything up. "My last partner and I dated for almost seven years," Ginny said. "He proposed to me three times."

Draco's hand slipped on the steering wheel, and he gaped at her for as long as he dared while driving. "Are you bloody serious or taking the mickey?"

"Serious."

"Good God! I assume you said no at least one of those times?"

"The first time was a few years into our relationship," Ginny said, leaning back in her seat. She loved watching Draco drive, watching the muscles in his forearm move as he handled the gear shift and the relaxed way he slouched in his seat. "I was only twenty at the time, and far too young to think of marriage and family. So I told him to hold that thought, and to ask me again in a few years."

"Which he did."

"Well -- he did, but -- er, we were --"

"Ah." Draco flashed a cheeky grin at her. "For future reference, anything a bloke says during sex should be considered off the record and completely insincere, especially if it's the L-word or a proposal of marriage."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ginny said dryly. "Well, anyway, I pretended I hadn't heard him, and he didn't bring it up again. The final time he asked was last year. I said no, then left him."

Draco whistled low. "I'd say that was harsh, but if you hadn't left him we never would have met," he said. "So...he wanted commitment and you didn't?"

"No, I --" Ginny frowned. Ironic how it was Draco Malfoy, Harry's childhood rival, who was the one getting her to analyse her relationship with him. "Our relationship was a convenience for me -- we'd reached a point where neither of us put any effort into being together, and I didn't want that. I do want to be married someday, and have children and all that -- just not with him."

"Fair enough," Draco said. After a moment, he went on, sounding slightly embarrassed, "I want a really big family. Four or five children, I think. I love kids."

For some reason that made Ginny incredibly sad. "Yeah, me too," she said softly.

He fumbled in his glove compartment for a moment, before pulling out one of those compack dish things and sliding it into the player on the dashboard. A haunting melody poured out of the speakers. "Do you like the Smiths?" Draco asked.

"What?"

"This band, the Smiths," he said, grinning at her confused expression. "I love them. I listen to all that music: the Clash, Wire, the Pistols..." He trailed off and Ginny listened to the song he'd put on, entranced by the singer's plaintive voice.

"_I am the son and heir_," Draco sang quietly along, "_of nothing in particular_."

Ginny shivered and drew her jacket closer.

It took them slightly more than two hours to reach Brighton: one hour was spent getting out of London, the other shooting down the motorway at top speeds, as Ginny repeatedly asked Draco if they weren't going too fast. "I like driving fast," he said, laughing. "It's the closest I'll ever get to flying."

"You're barking mad!"

"Yes, mad about you," he replied, taking his eyes off the road to kiss her.

His ebullient mood carried them all the way to Brighton, to a tile-roofed stone cottage on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by magnificent gardens and a low, crumbling wall. Draco pulled right up into the driveway, all the way to the detached garage, and Ginny saw a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair weeding a patch of brilliant yellow daffodils at the back of the house. She stood upright and strode towards them when they got out of the car.

"Ben, love!" she cried, smiling broadly. She took off her gardening gloves and pulled him into a tight embrace, which Draco returned with equal enthusiasm. "Glad to see you made it in one piece."

"Fabulous to see you, Lucy," he said. He released her and extended a hand to Ginny; she reached out and took it. "Gin, this is Lucy Walcott, my roommate John's aunt. Lucy, this is Ginny Beesley."

"Ah, the famous Ginny!" Mrs Walcott said, shaking her hand. "I've heard all about you, dear, Ben won't shut up about you. You're just as lovely as he said you were."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ginny replied, blushing.

Draco went and got their bags out of the boot while Mrs Walcott led Ginny into the house. "You should have heard Ben the day after he met you," Mrs Walcott said. "He rings us on a Friday -- my husband hasn't even left for his morning jog yet -- and tells us, 'I've just met the most incredible girl, Lucy,' and I said to him, 'Benjamin, I love you dearly, but she'd better be the Virgin Mary herself come again for you to be ringing us at this ungodly hour'."

Ginny chuckled and ducked her head slightly. "No, I'm just Ginny," she said.

"Well, Just Ginny," Mrs Walcott replied, giving her a kind smile, "we're very glad to have you with us this weekend."

With their bags stowed away upstairs -- Ginny wondered idly what the sleeping arrangements were -- Mrs Walcott took them to a book-lined, wood-panelled study at the back of the house, where a white-haired man sat behind a desk using a computer. "Peter, our guests are here," Mrs Walcott said.

The older man looked up immediately. "Why, Ben my lad!" He stood and Draco went to embrace him just as affectionately as he had Mrs Walcott. "Good to see you. This is Ginny?"

They went through introductions again, and Mr Walcott repeated his wife's welcoming words. "And how is our nephew Johnny?" he asked. "Still bouncing from girl to girl and job to job?"

"He's working at a health food store," Draco told them. They had moved into a sunny sitting room and taken seats on the scattered sofas and chairs; Draco's arm was draped over Ginny's shoulders. "He seems to like it. And he's been seeing Mac for a few months now, so he's not exactly sleeping around at the moment."

"And neither are you, it seems!" Mrs Walcott said. The tips of Draco's ears went pink, as did the apples of his cheeks. "Won't you tell us about yourself, Ginny?"

She told them what she had been telling Draco for the past month: a glossed-over version of her life that left out certain vital details. Her father worked for an obscure branch of the government and Bill's job as a cursebreaker for Gringotts turned into acting as a consultant for a security firm; Charlie became a zoologist, Percy a foreign diplomat, George an entrepreneur, and Ron a policeman. Hermione was a solicitor; Fred had died in a car accident. She had gone to a tiny boarding school in Scotland. The Walcotts smiled and nodded at everything she told them, and it became easier the more she said. They seemed truly kind, understanding people, and she thought to herself that, if Draco really had suffered from amnesia, he was lucky to have found people who obviously cared for him.

"But you said that you're John Palmer's aunt and uncle," Ginny said once she had done. "How are you so close to Ben?"

That gave them pause. Mr and Mrs Walcott's eyes met, and then they both looked at Draco, who nodded decisively. "That's why I brought Gin to you," he said to them. "I want to tell her. Everything."

"If that's what you want, Ben dear," Mrs Walcott said, quite seriously. "I'll go get refreshments, make yourselves comfortable." She got up and bustled towards the kitchen.

"Then I suppose I'm the one who starts this particular story." Mr Walcott shifted slightly in his seat. Ginny could feel that Draco's entire body had tensed next to her on the sofa, and he'd clenched his jaw. He seemed to be steeling himself for something.

"What am I being told?" Ginny asked.

"You've probably noticed -- over the past few weeks -- that there are certain things I won't talk about," Draco said haltingly. He moved his arm away from her and placed his hands in his lap. "My family -- parents -- primary school -- pretty much anything that happened more than eight years ago."

This was it. She was finally going to learn Draco's secret.

"Eight years ago," Mr Walcott began quietly, "I was working as a clinical psychologist at a hospital in London. I remember it so clearly -- I was in the middle of a session with another patient when I was paged, rather urgently, over the PA system. There was a disturbance a floor below, a young boy who was screaming and struggling with orderlies. They wanted me to calm him down, and have him cooperate with the staff so that he could be treated: he was badly dehydrated, malnourished, and had sustained several festering wounds that needed to be dealt with immediately before they became any more infected."

Ginny gulped. She had a pretty good idea what this story would lead to now.

"I went to help, naturally, but I asked where the boy's parents were and why they couldn't assist," Dr Walcott went on, sounding choked up. "They told me that an A-and-E nurse had found him wandering about outside the building alone, barefoot, dressed only in a shirt and trousers even though we were coming up to December by then." Beside her, a shudder went through Draco's body, and Ginny reached out and took his hand. "We stabilised the boy, treated his more serious wounds and fed him up, and I came in later to learn some things about him. He burst into tears soon after I began, for he claimed he knew nothing: not where he was, the year, the date, his own name, his address -- he had no declarative or autobiographical memory whatsoever. His was one of the most profound cases of retrograde amnesia I had ever seen.

"That, at least, was my initial diagnosis," Dr Walcott said, twitching his trouser leg over his knee. "It was an automatic assumption, considering he looked as though he'd been a bit knocked about. But we tested him for prior head trauma and substance abuse, the more common causes of retrograde amnesia -- and found nothing. There was no outwardly apparent reason that he should not remember a thing, and one doctor on the staff -- who admittedly wasn't very fond of children -- suggested malingering." At Ginny's blank look, Dr Walcott explained, "Malingering is when a patient merely pretends not to remember anything, or fabricates symptoms of other serious mental conditions. We tried working on that assumption, showing him various news items, having him hear different names, the names of places, all in the hope that he would show some recognition. There was nothing."

She looked at Draco, who stared ahead unblinkingly, then back at Dr Walcott. "Then -- if it wasn't amnesia -- what was wrong?"

"Ginny," Dr Walcott said, peering at her, "have you ever heard of a dissociative fugue?"


	15. Motherless Child

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Fourteen -- Motherless Child**

"A -- a dissociative fugue?" Ginny repeated. "No, I'm afraid I haven't."

"They were once called psychogenic fugues, but that term has fallen out of use." Dr Walcott looked sadly at Draco, before returning his tired brown eyes to hers. "Someone who suffers from a dissociative fugue is stricken by psychological trauma instead of physical: they are made to relive a traumatic experience, or they suffer an intense, emotionally draining event; something of that nature. The person is so eager then to remove themselves from untold distress and anxiety that they distance themselves as much as possible from the trauma. To do this, the brain essentially reboots itself."

"What does that mean?" Ginny asked, frowning.

"Dissociative fugues are characterised by travel away from home and familiar places. One enters the fugue state and his memories are suppressed; he goes away from where he was and doesn't look back; he pretends to be someone else. It's all a defence mechanism to protect the sufferer from their traumatic experience. The fugue state may last anywhere from days to months and can never be recalled after it ends. Judging from the condition Ben was in when we found him, I'd say he was wandering about in a fugue state for months."

"Oh my God," Ginny breathed. It made horrifying sense -- Nearly Headless Nick had seen him in June, and if Draco hadn't arrived at hospital in London until _November_...

Mrs Walcott reentered with a plate of chocolate biscuits. She set them down on the little coffee table between them before sitting again, but no one made a move to take one. Draco's eyes were flat and dead, and his hand in Ginny's was limp. She could feel his pulse pounding in his wrist.

"I could not identify myself," he said hoarsely, not looking at any of them, "so the staff at hospital set about trying to do that for me. They checked my clothing for tags, but they were handmade and lacked a distinguishing mark. I had nothing in my pockets. No one could remember seeing me before the A-and-E nurse found me, so no one had any idea where I'd come from. A search for dental records or fingerprints yielded nothing. The only thing left to do was to place my picture on the television news, and hope someone would recognise me."

"You remembered nothing?" Ginny whispered. The idea was incomprehensible. What would she have done if she had no memory of anything from her past?

"Well -- not nothing, just nothing that would help us find his family or friends," Dr Walcott was saying. "He had four things he was able to recall -- is that right, Ben?"

Draco nodded stiffly. "I can speak French and Italian fluently," he said. "And I remember a train station, wearing shinguards, and a giant white bird."

"You might vaguely recall seeing Ben on the BBC evening news," Dr Walcott said. "He appeared several nights in a row, and we put down the phone number of hospital in case anyone could provide any information. Meanwhile, as we waited to learn more, we worked with Ben to help him try to regain some memory -- any memory at all -- and help him ease back into his normal life."

"There were strange things that I couldn't do or recall," Draco said, speaking to his hands now. "I didn't know how to use a television or a phone, and I didn't remember events -- like Princess Diana's death, or the collapse of the Berlin Wall, or even what films had come out recently." He snorted bitterly. "Couldn't recall birthdays, friends, going to school, my favourite colour. I had no idea why I would be fluent in two other languages."

"We actually tried sending bulletins to France and Italy, in fact," Dr Walcott admitted, rocking slightly in his seat. "His accent was so perfect and his knowledge of the colloquialisms so complete, we reasoned that English might not be his native tongue."

"The only puzzle we managed to unlock was his memory of a train station," Mrs Walcott said. "I showed him a whole lot of pictures of interiors, and he identified King's Cross as the one he recalled."

Ginny swallowed. _Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters..._

"So all the bases were covered," Dr Walcott said, "and we were certain that someone out there would see Ben on the news and recognise him -- an old school friend, a sibling, _someone_ would come forward and identify him. And there were calls, many hundreds of them, all claiming to know who he was."

"Certainly someone knew him?" Ginny said, already knowing the answer.

"They were carefully screened, and some were allowed to meet him in person," Dr Walcott said. "We set up a little room at hospital for them to meet him in ones and twos -- most looked at him once and realised he wasn't their brother or friend or whomever, and left shortly after. Some tried insisting that he was who they thought, but by then his story was gaining national attention, so we filtered out those just looking for a few minutes' fame." The doctor sighed and looked sadly at his wife. "There were a few that went so far as to provide dental records for comparison, but --"

"None matched," Draco said, a definite quaver to his voice. Ginny looked at him and saw that his eyes were slightly shinier than usual. She squeezed his hand, but he still wouldn't look at her.

"We tried looking for medical records that matched old scars that he had," Dr Walcott said gently, looking at Draco with strong affection. "Ben has a long, thin scar that extends from his right clavicle to his left hipbone, and skin damage from a rather intense burn on his upper left arm. Both of them looked to be professionally treated, so we assumed there would be some record of them. Again -- nothing.

"By that time Ben had been with us at hospital for six months without being identified, and something needed to be done; he couldn't spend the rest of his life cooped up in hospital living off NHS funds."

"How did you get the name Ben Hamilton?" Ginny asked Draco.

"One of the orderlies just started calling him Benjamin shortly after he arrived," Dr Walcott explained, when Draco didn't answer. "She knew a boy from university with that name who looked just like him. Eventually we all started calling him that, and it stuck. The family name Hamilton came from a character in _East of Eden_, which Ben read when a doctor loaned it to him.

"So, as I said before, Ben stayed at hospital for six months without being identified," the doctor went on. "It was clear that he could not stay indefinitely, and not only for financial reasons. Our hospital made a special petition to Parliament to have him treated just like any other immigrant that comes to our shores and wishes to gain citizenship: we wanted him to be naturalised. The motion passed two months later, making a special dispensation for him. My wife and I volunteered to pay the fee, and Ben was made a British citizen on the tenth of July."

"But -- you told me that was your birthday."

"I made it my birthday, yes," Draco said, and at last, he met her eyes. His were filled with anxiety, melancholy, depthless frustration. "I thought it fitting."

"Of course," Ginny murmured.

"And Ben came to live with us," Mrs Walcott said, smiling at Draco; he smiled weakly back at her. "We did everything we could to help him start a normal, productive life."

"He expressed an interest in cooking almost immediately," Dr Walcott said, "so I spoke with an old university friend, Samuel Grayson, whom I knew owned a restaurant in London, and we got Ben a job as a line cook."

"That was when I went to France and Italy," Draco said, "to learn more about cooking. I didn't want to go to culinary school, because I was already so indebted to the Walcotts --"

"We would have been happy to pay your way for you, Ben dear," Mrs Walcott said, her eyes becoming bright with tears. "We would have done anything for you." Draco's smile broadened.

"After I returned, Peter and Lucy introduced me to their nephew John, who was getting a flat in London with Simon and needed a third flatmate, and that's it," Draco finished. "My life as I know it thus far."

"I've never heard of memory loss being permanent, though," Ginny said to Dr Walcott. "Won't Ben's come back?"

"That was our initial hope," Dr Walcott agreed. "In most cases, yes, after suffering a dissociative fugue the person is able to regain most or all of their memories from before the fugue state, with time and therapy. But because it has been eight years, and Ben has not been able to recall anything besides his --"

"King's Cross, shinguards, white bird," Draco recited. He sounded as though he said it often.

"Yes," the doctor said, nodding. "He has not remembered anything additional beyond those three things -- so it sadly looks as though he may be in the minority who never recover their memories at all."

Ginny's mind was racing a thousand miles an hour, desperately processing all she had just learned. He had no memory of the war, or his part in it. _No _memory. And suddenly, she became intensely aware of just how many memories she had of her own life: Bill putting her on her very first broomstick; her mother telling her fairy tales before bed; going to Hogwarts -- Draco's childhood was utterly gone, vanished; and with it Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, Snape, Malfoy Manor, his _parents... _Gone as though it had never happened, as though he had sprung fully formed from the mind of a deity and landed barefoot and alone in the snowy streets of London.

"Well," Mrs Walcott said, "now that we've put a damper on things" -- the rest of them chuckled weakly -- "let's go down to the Lanes and get some lunch, shall we?"

Brighton was just as beautiful as she remembered, but Ginny barely paid it any heed. The Walcotts chatted between them, and involved Ginny as much as they could, but Draco had seemingly sunk into a pit of self-loathing and moodiness, for he barely strung together two words the entire day. They wandered the Lanes for several hours after their lunch, then purchased admission to the Royal Pavilion and explored its ornate rooms and hallways. Ginny bought little presents for Luna, Ron and Hermione at the gift shop, and had her first piece of Brighton rock in twenty years when they went out to the Pier.

The weather cooperated with them all afternoon, and the sun stayed out for as long as it dared, not hiding behind any stray clouds. Mrs Walcott made a delicious supper for them all that night when they returned to the house, and the four of them played some Muggle games Ginny had never heard of: Monopoly, and Scrabble. Draco managed to rout them all quite soundly, and when he laughed as he took the very last of Ginny's properties, she thought that maybe he was recovered from his earlier funk.

That night, though, as Ginny got ready for bed and brushed her teeth, she couldn't help but think about her case. Draco was wanted now for assault and murder, and who knew what other trumped up charges -- and he remembered nothing of the war. How was he to stand trial and accept or deny responsibility for things he couldn't even remember? What would become of him at the hands of the Wizengamot and the merciless Wizarding public?

She returned to find Draco already in one of the twin beds in the guest room, facing away from her. "Ben," she began.

"Good night, Ginny," he murmured.

She felt as though she had been stricken. Making up her mind that instant, instead of getting into her own bed, Ginny crawled into his, curling up against the expanse of his back. His body was like a furnace, radiating heat.

"Hey," she whispered. "I know how hard that must have been for you today --"

"Do you?"

There was a lengthy pause. Ginny hoped he would speak again, for truthfully she was at a loss for words.

He shifted, at long last, until he was facing her, and his grey eyes were silver in the moonlight from outside. "My very first memory," he said hoarsely, "is of picking through a rubbish bin looking for something to eat. I was so cold, and completely lost and alone..." He looked away. "They tried -- everything to bring back my memories. I was hypnotised and drugged within an inch of my life -- but nothing came back. Nothing ever came back."

Ginny's lip trembled as her eyes filled, and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing him as close to her as possible. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"I remember a stupid -- fucking _bird_," he said, his voice breaking, "but I can't remember my own mother?"

His arms went around her and he buried his face in her shoulder. She fell asleep with his silent tears soaking through her shirt.


	16. Free Fall

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Fifteen -- Free Fall**

Ginny woke the next morning before she opened her eyes, and lay on her bed for a moment in that dreamy state between sleep and wakefulness. She was warm all over -- wonderfully so, like being wrapped in a blanket. Gentle ripples of content and pleasure passed over her in waves, and she arched her back slightly, wondering why on earth she felt so good.

"Ah, you're awake."

She blinked open her heavy eyes and found Draco's gray ones before her. Her shirt, some ragged London Marathon thing she'd borrowed from Hermione and never returned, had been hiked up. His callused fingers were tracing whorls and curlicues across the expanse of her stomach between it and the top of her pyjama trousers.

"What are you doing?" she croaked. The night before came back to her in flashes. She was curious to see how he was doing today, now that she knew all of his tragic past.

"Well," he said, "I started off merely watching you sleep" -- as he said this, he bent his head and pressed his lips to her throat, and Ginny arched again in relaxed enjoyment -- "and then I discovered that you had nothing on under this shirt."

"Pervy git," she grumbled, though she giggled as he kissed a particularly ticklish spot near her collarbone. He slid her shirt up even farther, and her breath caught as he cupped her breast in his large hand.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, taking the time to kiss down her neck, pulling aside her wide collar and planting a chaste kiss on her shoulder. Ginny's breath came harshly, and her heart jumped as he dragged one of his fingers across her sensitive, peaked nipple.

Pushing him back, she reached up and took her shirt off, then pulled him until he was almost completely on top of her. "Ben," she breathed, and the name was jarring and horribly out of context but he didn't notice. He kissed her lips tenderly, once, twice, again, and then, slowly, his tongue darted out to meet hers. Ginny threaded her fingers through his sleep-tousled hair, clinging to him, and he deepened the kiss, maintaining his slow pace. She shifted her legs until both of his were cradled between them, and his hips bumped against hers in _just_ the right spot. Ginny uttered a soft cry into his mouth.

"Bother," she whispered, as he kissed her throat. "If I could just be quiet..."

"I'd rather you not be, actually," he teased, and he moved his hips against hers a second time.

"Ben, dear? Are you up yet?"

Mrs Walcott's voice came from outside the room, and a moment later someone tapped at the door. "There's breakfast downstairs, when you're ready."

"We'll be down in a minute," Draco said, sounding remarkably normal.

"Very good." They both heard her footsteps retreat down the corridor.

"Bloody hell," he groaned, resting his head on Ginny's shoulder. She could feel the faint scratchiness of his cheek on her skin. "Perfect timing, yeah?"

"I'll give you a rain check," Ginny said, running a hand through his hair.

"I'll hold you to that. And now," he announced, rolling off her and onto his feet, "I believe I have a date with an ice cold shower." Ginny chuckled. He smirked back at her as he padded out of the room, his pyjama trousers slung criminally low on his narrow hips.

Mrs Walcott gave Draco a giant hug when he came downstairs with her ten minutes later. "I'm all right," he assured the older woman, giving her a warm smile. "I feel better than ever."

"I know how hard it is to relive those months," Mrs Walcott said, beginning to pile up ham and eggs and black pudding on his breakfast plate. "But it's always important to remember where we came from."

After breakfast, when Draco had gone upstairs to dress for their outing to the beach, the Walcotts held Ginny back in the kitchen. "We feel it our duty to approach you, as people who care only for Ben's welfare," Mrs Walcott said solemnly, her eyes focussed on Ginny and Ginny alone. "He seems very serious about you, and the two of you make a charming couple from what we've seen, but --"

"I-I won't hurt him," Ginny stuttered. "I -- Ben is so amazing --"

"But dating him means handling all of the baggage he comes with," Dr Walcott cautioned. "I don't suppose he told you that he once attempted suicide?"

Ginny fought back the tears that threatened to fall. That her beautiful, confident Draco had ever reached a point where he wanted to end it all was beyond thinking. "No," she whispered.

"He very nearly had his wish granted," Dr Walcott said quietly, putting down his paper. His wife squeezed his shoulder. "It was about three months after he was found. Somehow he got his hands on a scalpel..." The doctor shook his head.

"People who suffer dissociative fugues usually battle huge amounts of distress and depression after it occurs, even if they are able to recover their pre-fugue memories," Mrs Walcott said. "He had no idea who he was or where he'd come from -- still doesn't. You can understand that that's quite traumatising, for anyone."

"And the truth is that now that he's entered a fugue state once, he may well do again," Dr Walcott said. "It's been eight years, and he's managed to live a healthy, fulfilling life since his last one, but every day Lucy and I wake up dreading that we'll hear from John that Ben has up and vanished." He sighed. "I've taught him some stress management exercises and techniques to avoid a repeat, but...the fear is still there."

"I know -- well, actually, I can't pretend to know what it's like dating someone like Ben," Ginny admitted. "But -- I care so much for him. You have to believe me. I'm not going to run just because he has his demons."

"I told you I liked her," Mrs Walcott said to her husband, who laughed.

"Yes, that's very encouraging to hear," Dr Walcott said, smiling up at Ginny. "Lord knows Ben deserves someone like you after everything he's been through."

She headed upstairs to change into her swimsuit and cover-up, then the four of them drove down to the beach. The Walcotts set up a broad green umbrella and put their chairs under it to read, while she and Draco stretched their towels out nearby.

The moment Ginny put down her bag and pulled off her cover-up she became intensely aware of Draco's eyes following her every move. He was quiet as they applied sunblock, and it wasn't until she asked him to do her back that he said anything.

"I've wondered something since the day I met you," he commented, as his hands went up and down her spine. Ginny's eyes fluttered shut at his touch.

"What's that?"

"If these freckles of yours go everywhere." One hand wandered a bit lower than necessary, and Ginny leaned back into him. "Seems I finally have my answer."

She twisted her head round to give him a sultry look. "And here I thought you'd been struck speechless."

He laughed and a blush stole across his cheeks. "I was trying to come up with something profound -- maybe even quote someone famous, if at all possible -- on how incredibly gorgeous you look in that thing, but..."

"I understand," Ginny said, nodding. "It's hard to use your brain when all your blood is rushing somewhere else."

He gaped at her a moment before throwing his head back and laughing. "Oh, you're so going to get it for that!" Without warning, he scooped her over his shoulder and ran for the water, Ginny squealing in protest the entire way.

The salty water was cold and clear, and they spent hours that morning and well into the afternoon swimming and splashing each other. For lunch they had the famous fish and chips from Palm Court, a restaurant out on the Pier, and Draco bought more rock for them to eat. "I have a huge sweet tooth," he said, chuckling. "Anything with excess amounts of sugar in it, I'll eat it."

"You're not going to have any teeth left when you're an old man," she warned, grinning.

He sighed dramatically. "I suppose I'll have to switch to candy floss after the last one falls out." Ginny burst out laughing and threw her arms around him. Merlin, she loved this man.

The thought, so entirely out of the blue, shocked her. It must have shown on her face because Draco asked if something was wrong, but she just shook her head and said she was fine. As they wandered through the arcade, looking at all the flashing lights and watching a little boy walk past with a huge stuffed animal slung across his shoulders, Ginny gazed at Draco. It was true, she realised with a heart-wrenching pang. Somewhere along the line, while he was being funny and wonderful and understanding, she had fallen completely in love with him and everything about him: the way his hair hung in his eyes, the graceful way he moved, his sense of humour, his cooking, his smile, his... _everything._

She tugged gently on his hand to attract his attention, and when he turned to her she pulled him into a kiss in the middle of the arcade floor, as little children ran screaming and the video games beeped around them.

"What was that for?" he asked when she let go.

"No reason," Ginny said, her heart aching. He gave her his goofy grin, and they walked through the rest of the arcade with their arms around each other's waists.

That night for dinner, Draco treated them all to some of his fantastic dishes, which the Walcotts enthusiastically praised. "I always look forward to this part of his visits," Mrs Walcott teased.

"Ah, now I see why I get invited back," he said, placing a strawberry salad on the table before her. "You're using me for my cooking skills."

"Was I so transparent?" she said, and they all laughed.

When it became too late for them to keep pushing off their departure, Ginny and Draco packed their bags and placed them in the boot of his car. "It was wonderful to see you again, love," Mrs Walcott said, hugging Draco. "You are always welcome in our home, never forget that."

"Thanks very much, Lucy," Draco said. He hugged Dr Walcott too, and Ginny said her own goodbyes.

"Take care of him for us, Ginny," Dr Walcott said, putting an arm round his wife. "Maybe you can counteract John and Simon's bad influence."

"I'll do my best," she said, smiling up at Draco.

He pulled up in front of her flat at a little past nine after an uneventful drive, and helped her get her things out of the boot. "This weekend was wonderful," she said, as they stood on her front stoop. "I had so much fun."

"I'm glad," he murmured, before bending to capture her lips in a heated kiss. Ginny whimpered as he threaded his fingers through her long hair, making her scalp tingle in appreciation. She loved the way he kissed her, as though nothing and no one else was on his mind in that moment except her. She clung to the front of his shirt, wanting with every inch of her being to invite him inside.

But he answered that question for her. "I'm sorely tempted," he said breathlessly, his forehead against hers, "to ask if I can come in, but I have to be at the market by five tomorrow morning."

"Ask anyway," Ginny said, nipping at his mouth. "I won't say no."

He kissed her again, and took even longer to break away. "God, I want to," he groaned, his eyelashes fluttering. "I want to so much, you have no idea. But when I make love to you, I want to take my time and do it properly. I don't want to have to leave you until morning."

Ginny closed her eyes as the picture came to mind: waking up to him, the way she had this morning, with the sun shining on his pale blond hair and his warm body stretched out beside hers. She wanted that. She wanted it all. "Okay," she whispered. "Another night."

"Another night," he agreed, moving away from her. "Sleep well."

"You too." She watched helplessly as he got in his car and drove off.

Her dreamy, intoxicated state lasted as she pulled out her key and let herself into her building, and as she walked up to her flat. When she opened her door and saw Draco's case file scattered across her coffee table, she huffed in frustration. She would think about all she had learned and how it related to the case another time. Not tonight, not when her blood still hummed from his touch.

Ginny went to her bedroom and dumped her bag on the floor, too lazy to think of unpacking just yet, and went back to the case file to clean it up. She slowly shuffled together all the disparate pieces of parchment and put them away.

Was it too much for her to be just a little selfish? For her to want Draco for herself, to be with him and love him for who he was _now_, without anyone else getting in the way? The Ministry wanted him, to make an example of him; the Wizarding community wanted a thrilling criminal trial; Harry wanted him so he could have the last word; his parents wanted him to be their son again...

She looked down at the last sheet and found a scrawled note at the bottom:

_Accused of murdering Colin __Creevey__, evidence forthcoming -- O.C. __Yaxley__, memory_

And underneath it:

_Draco likes tiramisu gelato best_

Ginny sighed and shoved the parchment back into her folder.


	17. Hopes and Dreams

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Sixteen ****–****Hopes and Dreams**

When Ginny returned to the Auror department after lunch on Monday, it was to find a scene of complete chaos. Aurors in scarlet robes ran everywhere, shooting off memos to other departments and the _Daily Prophet_, shouting back and forth at each other about courtrooms and press conferences and more things impossible to discern with so many people yelling at once.

Ginny turned to Angelina, the only other person in the room who wasn't shouting. "What in Merlin's name is going on?" she asked.

Angelina grinned broadly. "It's more Death Eaters for Harry to cross off his list. Boot, O'Connell, and Chambers nabbed Rabastan Lestrange _and _Travers a few hours ago in Stirling!"

Ginny's heart did a little flip in her chest. "Oh my God -- that's great!" she cried. "That's -- but they were the last people on Harry's list, this means we've caught them all!"

"Except for Draco Malfoy, of course," Angelina corrected her. "But yeah, aside from Malfoy they were the only ones left, and we did it a lot faster than we thought we could. What's it been, five years since Harry started that list? He thought it'd take us twice that to catch them all."

She had to force herself to hold her smile. "Yeah, that's – really fantastic." Angelina squeezed her shoulder and went off to join in the mayhem that had almost completely consumed the Auror department.

Ginny sat at her workspace, numb. That was it, then. The era of Death Eaters had finally come to an end, and with it the slight lingering fear left over from Tom Riddle's brief reign in the Wizarding world. From this point on their daily work would be primarily concerned with petty crimes, upholding the Statute of Secrecy, and protecting the Minister and his staff when he travelled to foreign countries.

This meant that all eyes were now on her, without any other rogue Death Eaters to distract them, and judging her ability or lack thereof to bring in the very last of them: Draco Malfoy.

But he had no Dark Mark. The point had been debated to death years ago, if Draco had it, and if he didn't if he should still be considered a Death Eater. They hadn't managed to come to a decision. Ginny had seen his naked left arm on numerous occasions, and though she hadn't had the opportunity to study it closely, Draco's skin was fair enough that even if the Mark had faded it would still be visible. But no -- the only markings of any kind on his skin were the old Sectumsempra scar from his sixth year, and that strange burn on his upper arm, which she now guessed was from the Fiendfyre Crabbe had cast in the Room of Requirement during his seventh.

And since he was the only one left, and she had come close to "catching" him once -- this meant that Harry might up Draco's case to a higher priority status, and there were no promises that he would keep Ginny on the case if he did. High priority cases went to Aurors like Ron and Angelina, or Danny O'Connell or, Merlin forbid, Romilda Vane.

Ginny would wring the prissy witch's scrawny neck with her bare hands if she was reassigned to Draco's case.

She took a deep breath to calm herself down, and even managed to join in the department's rousing cheers when Boot, O'Connell, and Chambers themselves all walked into the office, exhausted and a bit scraped up but exhilarated with their success. Harry came shortly after, beaming at everyone he laid eyes on. Ginny hadn't seen him looking so pleased since he'd outsmarted Tom Riddle, and even then his happiness had been tempered with grief. It simply proved what she'd accused him of years ago: that Harry was really only happy when he was saving the world.

Romilda went right up to him and hugged him in front of everyone, then planted an exaggerated kiss on his lips. "Congratulations, Harry," she said, giving him her sexiest grin.

"Congratulations to us all!" he cried, putting one arm about her waist and gesturing to the entire department. Another cheer went up. "Really, I have to say that I'm so proud of what this group of people has accomplished in the last five years. We made a promise then, starting out, that we wouldn't give up until the Wizarding world was safe again, and we've kept that promise. We've done it! Now Tom Riddle is truly dead and gone!" The Aurors applauded raucously, adding jubilant catcalls and whistles.

Ginny clapped along with the rest of them, giving the trio who had caught Travers and Lestrange her sincere congratulations, but her celebratory mood was completely superficial. She was just waiting for Harry to come to her about Draco. She planned out what she would tell him when he did, and tried to prepare herself for any eventuality – if he would keep her on the case, or give her help, or even remove her. Let The Boy Who Lived _try_ to take her off of her case, and he would have the chance to see what it was like having bats fly out of his nose.

He didn't fail her. After giving Romilda another kiss, Harry released his new partner and wove through the desks, slapping people on the back and shaking hands with nearly everyone he passed. At last, while the rest of the room returned to arranging court appearances and press releases, Harry reached Ginny's workspace.

"Fantastic, isn't it?" he said, motioning towards O'Connell, Boot, and Chambers.

"It is," she agreed. Over his shoulder, she saw Romilda giving her a jealous glare. "Couldn't ask for more from an Auror department, really."

"I could, actually," Harry said, attempting and failing to sound nonchalant. "Let's go into my office, Gin."

Bloody Merlin's knickers, here it was. She smiled inanely and followed him, and even seated herself on the other side of his wide desk after he shut the door behind them, like a good little Auror. "What can I help you with, Harry?" she asked.

"Two words: Draco Malfoy." Harry perched on the edge of his desk, peering down at her with those bright green eyes that she had once found impossible to resist. She found it all too easy to do so now. "He's the only one left out there, Ginny."

"Hm," she said, pretending to think. "See, that would make sense if Malfoy was a Death Eater – which he's _not_."

"He helped them," Harry said, frowning at her tone. "He got Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and he wasn't fighting against them on that last battle. That's good enough for me."

"Then what am I in here for anyway?" she said irritably, folding her arms in front of her chest. "I'm still looking for him, just like I'm supposed to do, and I didn't think those orders would change."

"I just had a message I wanted to relay to you – I would've done before, but the whole thing with Lestrange and Travers distracted me." He walked around to the other side of his desk and pulled open a drawer. He dug through it a moment, until he retrieved a slightly rumpled bit of parchment. "According to Law Enforcement higher ups, Ministry protocol dictates that when there's an accusation of murder, it's up to the victim's family to decide if charges will be made."

"It isn't up to the Ministry?" Ginny said, raising her eyebrows.

Harry shrugged and scrubbed a hand through his untidy hair. "Evidently not. I think I remember Hermione saying it goes back to when Wizard Duels were fought to the death – or something. Whatever – since Malfoy was accused of Colin Creevey's death, the Creeveys were made aware of it, even though they're Muggles."

Ginny didn't have a good feeling about this. "And?" she prompted.

"Well, they've decided that they're going to press charges," Harry said, looking evilly excited. "So it's official now, Gin – even if Malfoy gets off for attacking Padma Patil and evading the Ministry, he definitely won't get off for killing Colin."

Ginny sighed and looked away, suddenly chilled. She missed Colin with an intensity that surprised her, even now, eight years after the fact. His loss had nothing on Fred's, but Colin had been a good friend. They had helped each other survive Transfiguration year after year, and his guileless, naïve personality had hidden a wonderfully dry sense of humour.

Oh, Colin. To have died at sixteen, when his entire life was still before him – he would have done amazing things had he lived.

"I'll add it to the case file," she said at last.

"I'm going to be giving you help as well," Harry said, confirming her worst fears. "I want to wrap this all up as soon as possible, so the Minister of Magic has something good to announce for his annual address."

"Do you really think I'll need help?" Ginny asked. "Malfoy isn't particularly dangerous."

"True," Harry said, chuckling, and she had to suppress the abrupt rage that rose within her. "Reckon he still remembers that Bat Bogey Hex you cast on him."

Ginny winced at the unintended irony of his words. "Don't forget that I'm the one who brought in Thorfinn Rowle," she said pointedly. "Rowle was a lot more deadly than Malfoy could ever hope to be."

"Yeah – which is why I'm assigning Ron to help you on the case, since the two of you worked together for that one," Harry said. "I already told him this morning, and the case's official status has been bumped up to high priority. He said he's ready to help you out."

She sent up a silent prayer. If she had to be made to work with someone on this case, she was at least glad it was Ron. Ron had grown up with her and knew her quirks; if she told him she wanted to keep working on the case herself until the capture, he would accept it without question.

"Good to know," she said briskly, rising and smoothing her scarlet robes. "If there's nothing else?"

"Get him soon, Gin," Harry said again. "I don't want to have to give you a deadline, but… Please, just find him and bring him in. If not for me, then for Narcissa Malfoy. Remember why you first started working on this case."

_You must find my son, Miss __Weasley_ _He belongs here in Wil__tshire, it is in his blood._

And she did, out of the blue. As she left Harry's office and made her slow way to her own desk, Ginny remembered her tea with the dying woman back in June, when she had first begged Ginny to find her beloved son and only child. She remembered the sepulchral silence that rang through the corridors of Malfoy Manor, bereft as it was of any hope or gaiety. How the Malfoys had survived in such a place for so long was difficult to imagine.

_I remember a stupid fucking __bird,__ but __I can't remember my own mother?_

Merlin, why had she been allowed to wield such awesome power? Why was this monumental decision hers, and hers alone? She was a bystander in what had happened during the war, save for her brief duel with Bellatrix Lestrange – she had nothing to do with the Malfoys, or Colin, fighting when he knew that hexes and curses weren't his strengths. Why had this been left to her? If John Palmer – and the Walcotts, now she thought of it – knew Draco was a wizard, why hadn't they said anything?

Why on God's green earth hadn't they _said anything?_

Because of the excitement of arresting Lestrange and Travers, no one felt very much like doing actual work that afternoon. Eventually, noticing that the Aurors were just standing around asking O'Connell, Boot, and Chambers what the capture had been like, Harry dismissed them all and gave them the afternoon off.

Ron came up to Ginny almost immediately. "I was thinking we'd get to work right away," he said, sounding very businesslike and not at all like her brother. "This afternoon we could –"

"I've actually made plans," Ginny said, cutting him off. "I have tons of errands to run – and, er, besides that I think you should read over Draco's file and become familiar with it first. You know, see if you can catch anything I haven't noticed."

"Yeah, okay." Ron whipped off his Auror robes and stowed them away in his bag, revealing loose jeans and a Weird Sisters t-shirt underneath. "Actually, I promised Hugo I'd take him to Puddlemere United's practice this afternoon, so I can't either. Tomorrow though, we'll get to work."

"Of course. Tell Oliver I said hello."

"Will do." He went off the opposite way down the corridor towards Hermione's office, raising his hand in farewell.

Ginny barely waited until she'd left the Ministry to turn on her mobile phone and speed dial Draco's number. He picked up on the third ring. "All right, love," he said, and his voice seeped through her skin and made her feel warm all over.

"All right," she said, grinning foolishly as she walked away from the public toilets and down the busy street. "I blame you, you know. I couldn't do anything today without thinking of you."

Draco chuckled. "Yeah, and I've just realised that all of tonight's featured entrees are either red or brown, so you're at fault here as well."

"I want to see you."

"I want to see you too, but I'm needed in the kitchen tonight and I've got to go to the market tomorrow morning as well. What about Wednesday?"

Ginny groaned. "Fine – if I must."

He laughed again. "If I had my way we would stay in bed every day, but that's the best I can do."

"Ring me whenever you can. I miss you already."

"I miss you, love. See you Wednesday."


	18. Without End or Beginning

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Seventeen – Without End or Beginning**

Ron was gunning ahead full blast on Draco's case starting bright and early Tuesday morning. "I didn't really see anything that might be a new lead," he said, as he downed a cup of tea and flipped through the file. "You've been pretty thorough."

"I went through the same training as you," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "I know what I'm doing."

He tossed the bulging file onto her desk. "I reckon the only thing we can do at this point is wait until he makes another appearance. You've got to be quicker on your feet next time, though, Gin. No more letting Malfoy slip through your fingers."

"Right," Ginny said. Easier said than done.

Their conversation was still fresh in her mind when she left work on Wednesday, and when Draco rang her twenty minutes later. "I'll be seeing you in just a few more hours," he said.

"Good," she replied. "I've been dying to show you some things I bought the other day."

"Things?" he said, his voice rising slightly. "Would those 'things' be lacy and black, perchance?"

"Lacy, yes – but green instead of black."

"God, Ginny," he groaned theatrically. "You're killing me."

She left early for his flat, Apparating to her usual spot in Earl's Court Road and walking the rest of the way to his townhouse. As was expected, no one answered her knock, so she settled herself on the front steps to wait until they returned.

She was going to tell him, she decided, either that night or the very next morning. It was best if he heard everything from her rather than from someone like Harry, and it might soften the blow. She would tell him his real name, that his parents were alive and impatient to see him, that he was a wizard – the whole story, everything he wanted to know about his missing past.

The news that he was wanted for murder would come later.

Finally, at quarter after seven, she heard loud, laughing voices at the end of their quiet street. Standing, Ginny looked and saw John, Simon, and Draco walking towards their townhouse, dressed in their rugby clothes, shoving each other and taking the mickey in the way that young men always seemed to do.

Simon saw her first. "Ah!" he cried, flinging his arms wide. "Et es the east, an Juliet es the sun! Hallo, love!"

"All right, Kinky?" she said, grinning broadly, but she had eyes only for Draco. The moment he had seen her, he had riveted his gaze to hers.

"Would tha ah had such a girl waitin for me as well!" Simon said, jumping up the stairs. "Love, ef et does nae work out with Benjamin, ah make a great rebound shag."

Ginny laughed, at last tearing her eyes from Draco to meet Simon's. "I'll keep that in mind," she said, even as Draco slipped his arm around her waist and placed a tingling kiss under her ear.

"We'll be out of your hair in a mo," John said, pulling Simon up the stairs to the front door and getting out his key. "We'll shower and change our rugby clothes, then Mac and Julia are waiting for us round the corner at O'Neill's." They both disappeared into the house, leaving Draco and Ginny standing out on the stoop.

"All right?" he murmured.

"All right," she said, before kissing him. He responded in kind, sliding his hands under her shirt. She shuddered against him, and felt heat pooling in the pit of her stomach.

"Monsieur Dubois is at the restaurant tonight, and one of the line cooks is going to the market tomorrow morning," he murmured, as he kissed the line of her jaw and down her neck. "I don't have to be anywhere until noon."

"I'm going into work late tomorrow," she replied softly, nipping at his earlobe. "No one will miss me until ten."

Draco pulled away from her, his eyes dark. "Best news I've heard all day," he practically growled, before he took her hand and led her into the townhouse.

They were in the kitchen when John and Simon came downstairs, freshly showered. "Have fun, kids," John said, brown eyes twinkling as he waved. "Don't do anything we wouldn't do."

"Very sound advice, Mister Palmer," Simon agreed, and with an exaggerated wink in Draco's direction, the two of them slipped out of the house again.

"I was hoping to have washed by the time you arrived," Draco told her. As he spoke, he moved slowly around the kitchen, plucking various pots and pans out of their cupboards and placing them on the workspace. "Reckon I reek a bit after playing rugby for two hours."

It didn't make any difference to Ginny. She didn't care that Draco veritably glowed from being outside in the sun, his skin warm and flushed and glistening. He was wearing a football jersey again, the West Ham claret and blue, which set off his pale, mussed hair. He'd never looked more edible.

"Have you ever had duck?" he was asking her. "I dug through my old cookbooks this morning and found a great recipe for –"

Ginny pulled him towards her and cut him off with a kiss, unable to bear not touching him for a second longer. "Must we eat right this moment?" she murmured against his lips.

"Mm," he hummed, "I think I like your plan better." Her hands wound through his fragrant, damp hair, while her tongue slid against his, again and again, making her dizzy with lust. How she had managed to go so many hours without kissing him and being with him wasn't even worth remembering.

"At the risk of sounding cheesy," he said, even as he reached up the back of her shirt and unhooked her bra, "can I suggest we take this upstairs?"

"Take that risk," she whispered, and they moved as one down the hall, up the stairs, pausing every few steps to exchange heated, too-brief kisses.

"Thank God John offered to take the room on the second floor," he said. He backed into the bedroom at the top of the stairs, and she was besieged by his personality on all sides. Though she had never seen his bedroom at Malfoy Manor, this room screamed _Draco_ from every corner: from the posters of Johnny Rotten and Morrissey and Ian Curtis on the walls, to the white chef's tunic draped over a desk chair, to the scattered crime novels on his shelves. The room was unerringly his.

"Wow," she breathed, studying the Muggle pictures he'd stuck into the frame of a wide mirror. They were of him, John, and Simon, variously at sporting events or the seaside. "Your room is –"

"Currently unimportant," he muttered, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms round her waist. He peppered her neck with slow, drugging kisses as his hands slid up under her shirt and cupped her breasts; Ginny groaned with pleasure and slid her hands backwards through his hair. "Let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?"

"Right," she said breathlessly. "My next question was going to be – mm, _God_ – to ask if that was a baguette in your pocket."

He snorted in amusement. "We're skipping dinner, remember?" With her belt already undone he made quick work of the button and zipper on her jeans, and before she knew it he had slipped his fingers down the front of her panties and touched her _there_, stroking her surely. Her hips bucked against his hand and an embarrassing whimper escaped the back of her throat. "You're so ready for me," he hissed, his hot mouth pressed against her ear. "You look fucking amazing."

Her eyes had fallen shut at some point, but she opened them again to see the two of them reflected in his mirror. She looked thoroughly wanton, but more importantly, Draco looked about to devour her whole, his eyes dark as mercury. The thought sent a shivering wave of desire through her body, and she reached behind her to hook her arms around his neck, encouraging him onward as she moved in time with his hand.

He pulled away though, and Ginny cried out in protest. "Too much clothing," he said, and she eagerly followed his lead. She pushed his shorts to the ground, while he yanked her plain gray t-shirt over her head; her loosened bra fell to the floor after it. Then came his shirt, but as Ginny pulled it over his shoulders and down his arms, something caught her attention.

Draco held his breath as she dumped his jersey on the floor and carefully studied his wrists. "They told you," he said flatly.

For just below his palms on each arm was a faint tracery of scars, crossing back and forth where the veins showed blue. She ran her fingers along the tiny ridges, devastated that the Walcotts had told her the truth. "Why did you do this?" she whispered.

"Because I was scared," he said. "I could remember nothing to live for."

"I forbid you to kill yourself," she said, her voice catching, and she flung her arms around him and hugged him as tightly as she could. "Do you promise me? If you ever – _ever_ try something like that again, I'll kill you myself. You have no reason –"

"Ginny," he said, his lips in her hair. "I forgot the last of my reasons when I met you."

She couldn't remember what happened immediately after that, for it seemed like he'd leeched all the strength out of her body with his heartfelt words. They ended up on his bed, never losing contact with each other as they stripped off the remainder of their clothes, kissing, touching, creating a pleasurable haze that threatened to engulf her and make her utterly lose her mind.

"Just a minute," Draco said. He reached over her to the night table beside his bed and pulled out a little foil packet.

"Good idea," Ginny said, grinning up at him. "Don't want you getting pregnant, now do we?"

Draco laughed out loud. "Would you make an honest man of me if I did?"

"Only if you promised me breakfast in bed every morning." She took the condom away from him and pulled it out herself, reaching out to stroke him in her other hand. She was amused to hear him bite back a moan. "I'm not the only one ready to go," she murmured, placing a kiss in the centre of his chest. With a single motion, she rolled the condom down his length.

"Witch," he hissed. Ginny's heart lurched in apprehension until she realised he didn't mean it literally. He pounced then, pinning her to the bed and resting most of his weight on his elbows. "Why didn't we do this sooner?" he wondered aloud.

"Because I wanted to give my virginity to just the right boy," Ginny said, batting her eyes.

"Because I didn't think you would respect me if I was too easy," he returned, and they both burst out laughing. Even as they laughed, he separated her legs with his knee and spread them wide. "Oi, it's important to me what you -- oh _fuck_." He pushed into her in several short, shallow strokes, and his face lost any expression of humour. "Ginny – God, Ginny…"

He went very still above her, breathing hard. She groaned at the feel of him filling her, and ran her hands up and down the planes of his back. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

"I – I need a minute," he said, through clenched teeth.

She chuckled breathlessly. "Didn't realise I was bedding a teenage boy."

"Ginny –"

"Will I make it back to my flat in time to catch the new _EastEnders_?"

"Keep it up and I'll come early, leave you behind, and not ring you for a week."

Ginny threw her head back and laughed, until he withdrew and thrust again. Moaning, she locked her legs around his hips, pressing herself as close to him as possible. "I take that back," she breathed, gasping when he thrust a third time. "You're too good at this… to be a teenage boy."

"Considering I'm… almost thirty… I'll take that… as a compliment."

He set a slow, leisurely pace, and they continued to rib and tease each other as long as they were still able to speak. She was awed that lovemaking could be like this: so full of laughter and affection and fun, instead of simply being something to do with her partner when they were bored. Each time he thrust their lips brushed together, barely grazing each other, and he murmured wonderful things to her – about how she was beautiful, and he couldn't believe she'd chosen him. Of all the people in the world, they'd chosen each other.

He made sure she came first, toppling over the edge in the maddening rush, before following after with her name reverently on his lips. He was still trembling with aftershocks when he rolled off her and pulled her with him, so that he lay on his back with her spread across him. Together, shaking, disbelieving, they made their way back to reality.

"Fuck," he whispered some time later.

"I think that's what some people call it," Ginny said, smiling into his shoulder.

"Has it ever…?"

"Been that good before? Never."

"Then I'm not the only one who feels like he just died."

"Ugh. Necrophilia isn't really my thing, you know."

He laughed and kissed her hair. "Once the feeling returns to my toes, we're definitely doing that again."


	19. Confessions

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Eighteen – Confessions**

Ginny woke the next morning when a ray of brilliant sunlight fell across her eyes. She buried her face into her pillow, determined not to get up for at least another hour, but then she heard someone sigh in their sleep beside her. And realised that her bed wouldn't smell like men's aftershave.

Draco was still sleeping across from her when she cautiously opened her eyes. The green bed sheets were twisted awkwardly round their bodies, belying the distracted state in which they had, at last, fallen asleep, and the room was thick with the scent of sex. Good sex, and lots of it. Ginny vainly suppressed a grin when she thought of the night before.

Her mind returned to the man beside her, and she settled into a more comfortable position to watch him. He was sprawled on his back on his side of the bed, his chest rising and falling in a slow, even tempo, with the bed sheet bunched at his waist. One long-fingered hand lay on his chest, the other above his head on his pillow. He faced her, looking oddly vulnerable in repose, and his lips were parted slightly, as though he were about to ask a question. Unable to resist the impulse, Ginny leaned in and gave him a soft, lingering kiss.

His eyes fluttered weakly, and he frowned against the sunlight. "Morning already?" he asked, his voice deep and scratchy.

"That's what they call it when the sun comes up," she said.

"Cheeky," he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Ginny rested her head on his pillow as he turned onto his side, suddenly shy for no reason at all. "Hi," she whispered.

He grinned sleepily at her. "Hi," he whispered back. "How are you?"

"No complaints, overall. You?"

"Same. Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know. Maybe because we screamed ourselves hoarse last night?"

Draco raised his eyebrows and snickered loudly. "Speak for yourself, Beesley. I should've known it was true what they say about redheads."

Ginny giggled at that and then just lay there, looking at him. Merlin, but he was beautiful. His pale hair curled slightly against the pillow, marking a stark contrast to her own fiery locks, and the angle of the sun made it look as though his eyes almost glowed from within. She wished she could capture this moment forever somehow, so she could always remember that they had been happy – truly happy, and careless of the world and the responsibilities around them.

He reached up and traced her lips with the pad of his thumb. "Tuppence for your thoughts," he murmured.

"Oh, are they worth that much now?"

"You know how it is. Strength of the British pound versus the American dollar, and all that rot."

She kissed his thumb. "I was thinking about us."

"Good things, I hope," he said, grinning goofily.

"Always good things."

"An example?"

She reached up and brushed away some of his hair from his face, then watched how it fell back. "I was thinking about how I've been in London all these years, and you've been in London all this time, and we only met six weeks ago."

"It's a big city," he said. "We couldn't meet each other until we were meant to."

"Then you believe in fate?"

He shrugged. "I reckon so. Not necessarily that everything we do is destined, but that things have an uncanny habit of putting themselves to rights in the end. How else am I supposed to rationalise losing the first twenty years of my life? Just say 'shite happens' and move on? Not bloody likely."

Ginny bit her lip. She needed to ease into the subject if she was to tell him about his past and not upset him. They were together and he was relaxed and at ease. There was probably no better time than now. "Dr Walcott said that fugue states are triggered by emotional trauma," she said. "What do you think happened to you?"

He looked away, instead focussing on their twined hands lying on the bed. "I think my parents died," he said quietly. "Very suddenly and unexpectedly, out of the blue. And I couldn't handle their loss or my grief, so I…left it behind."

"That makes sense."

"So I have to believe it was meant to happen," he said, his voice strengthening as he went on. He raised his eyes to hers, and Ginny felt like she was drowning in their clear depths and the unspoken emotion in them. "I was meant to lose my childhood and start over again, because I was meant to be here, and I was meant to find you. If I can't believe that, then what else is there?"

"I don't know," she murmured. After an awkward moment's pause, she asked, "Do you – do you think you'll ever regain your pre-fugue state memories?"

He considered her question, stroking the back of her hand with his finger. "No," he said at last. "Nothing so far has triggered anything. I've had no flashes of recognition, no dreams of people I used to know – I've come to accept that it's gone now. Permanently."

"Then…" Ginny's voice faltered, and she swallowed before going on. "You could've known me before your dissociative fugue, and you'd never know it."

"But that's irrelevant, because I didn't," he said. He smiled affectionately at her and moved his hand from her lips to the side of her face. "If you'd known me before, you would have said something. And I'd like to think that I could never forget you, no matter what happened to me."

Ginny's heart broke as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. He curled his fingers in her long hair and deepened the kiss, tracing the inside of her bottom lip with his tongue, and she whimpered.

He pulled back, his eyes dark. "But there is one more thing I need to show you," he said. "Even I can't explain it, no matter how I might try."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, eyes widening.

"Watch this," he said.

And suddenly one of the crime novels on his shelf came hurtling towards them of its own power, spinning end over end. Ginny jumped in surprise but Draco caught it neatly with one hand and tossed it on the bed between them.

"Not only have I no memory, no past, no proper identity," he said, "I'm telekinetic as well. I can move things round just by thinking about it."

Ginny's heart was racing in her chest as she stared at the book. Dear _Merlin_, he knew about his powers. He thought he was doing Muggle mind tricks, but he had been performing wandless magic for all these years. There was no doubt about it, then: if Draco had been actually using magic all this time without being detected by the Ministry, that meant he was near to someone registered in the National Records.

It meant that John was most definitely a wizard.

"Bloody hell," she breathed.

"That's what Simon said," Draco replied, grinning humourlessly. "He happened to be there the first time I moved something. I was making us sandwiches late one night and he tossed the bread towards me, but short. It moved in midair to reach my hands." He gestured with his hand and the novel went zooming back to its shelf. "I'm sorry if that scared you."

"No, it's – fine," she said, though her heart still had not returned to its normal speed. "Is that all you can do, move things, or can you do other things as well?"

"Just move things, yeah. But – look, don't tell anyone, all right? John and Simon know, and the Walcotts, but I don't want everyone finding out and then there I am on _Extraordinary People_, you know?"

"Of course," she said. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. Here was the lead-in she needed to tell him everything. Thank Merlin she had her wand in her bag, so she could show it to him as she told him about the Wizarding world. "Ben, there's something –"

The sound of the front door slamming shut came from downstairs, followed by a loud yawn and discarded shoes thudding onto the floor. "The two of you'd best be decent!" John shouted from below. "I really haven't any desire to see you starkers, Ben!"

"But Ginny starkers es all right!" Simon added. "En fact, encouraged!"

_Perfect bloody timing_, Ginny groaned. _How punctual of them._

"That wanker's going to get his head kicked in someday," Draco said, though without rancour. He kissed her one last time before rolling over to his side of the bed and grabbing some clothes left laying on the floor, while Ginny reached for her bag and change of clothes. Draco pointed out the bathroom to her, and she jumped in to take a quick shower.

The three of them were still in the foyer chatting when she emerged, freshly washed and dressed, ten minutes later. John she studied with more care than she ever had before, wondering if there was possibly something about him she could see that meant he was a wizard. But he looked as normal as Simon did: he wore jeans and a _Doctor Who_ t-shirt that read "Are you my mummy?", with leather shoes on his feet and an England Football lanyard hanging out of his pocket. She studied the legs of his jeans and saw no wand pocket in the seams, nor in the sides of his shirt.

"I don't appreciate the comments about Ginny," Draco was saying pointedly to Simon.

"Oh come 'ead, Benjamin," Simon said, spreading his arms wide. "You know ets en jest, an ah love you like me own brother."

Draco frowned, but only to hide the smile struggling to his lips. "Yeah, all right," he said, and Simon pulled him into a great big hug.

"Ach, so much emotion en this room," Simon said, pretending to tear up.

Draco stepped back, laughing. "How is Julia doing, then? Haven't seen her in ages."

"Just fine, and might ah say a bit happier this mornin." Simon winked suggestively.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well look, Gin's got to run off to work soon, so let me get breakfast made."

"That's right, earn your room and board, Mister Hamilton," John said. Draco, already headed down the hall towards the kitchen, gestured rudely behind his back, making them all snicker.

"Ah could eat an elephant," Simon declared, following Draco.

Thinking fast, now that she had maybe a split second to speak to John privately, Ginny reached out and grabbed his arm. He turned to her, eyebrows raised. "We need to talk," she hissed. "I need to know what you –"

John smiled. "There's nothing to talk about, Ginny," he said. "Just keep doing what you're doing and everything will work out all right. You'll see." He removed himself from her grasp, and went after his housemates into the kitchen.

They spent so much time fooling around and teasing one another as Draco cooked that Ginny had to race to eat her breakfast so she could pretend to give herself enough time to take the Tube to work. Simon and John, who were still busy working through their breakfasts, bid her a cheery "good day" while Draco escorted her to the door and out onto the front step.

"Come to the restaurant Friday," he said. They had their arms wrapped round each other's waists. "Tonight's not good, since I'll be horribly busy back in the kitchen and I'm training a new waiter and an expediter."

"All right," she said. Biting her lip, she went on, "I have something important to tell you then, are you working late?"

"No." He frowned and started tracing random patterns on her lower back. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine." She forced a smile. "It's – well, I'll tell you then, all right? It's just something you need to know."

"I'll be all ears," he promised, and he leaned in to kiss her goodbye. Each kiss was like the first one, that first soft, chaste kiss in front of her flat – full of wonder and newness, and something that ran deeper than anything Ginny could ever have imagined. It couldn't get better than this, what they had.

"Have a good day at work," she said, their foreheads touching.

"You as well," he said. "I love you, Ginny."

Evidently, she'd been wrong. She'd known for some time that he loved her, for it was obvious to all who saw them, but for him to actually say the words was beyond description. She couldn't hold back the laugh that burst forth, and she kissed him again in sheer delight. "I love you," she whispered, and he grinned and kissed her a third time.

"Go, or neither of us are making it to work today," he said. Laughing, she released him and went down his front stairs. Turning as she made her way down his street, she waved farewell; he waved back.

Her feet might not have touched the ground as she walked, and the sounds of nearby traffic might not have reached her ears as she replayed again and again the words he had said. He loved her. He really loved her. Ginny grinned at everyone she passed on the pavement, happy at the whole world and everything in it. She would tell him about his past on Friday, and he might be upset, but they would be all right, because he loved her and she loved him –

A sudden jerk on her elbow pulled her forcefully from her giddy thoughts, and Ginny spun around, confused.

Ron stood behind her, panting for breath.

From the look on his face, Ginny knew he had seen all he needed to see.


	20. Intraoffice Secrets

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Nineteen – Intra-office Secrets**

Ron never once let up his vicelike grip on her upper arm as he dragged Ginny down Earl's Court Road away from Draco's townhouse. The way he yanked her behind him, combined perhaps with the look of murderous rage on his face, garnered them curious stares from passers-by, and more than one person looked concerned. Ginny fought to keep her face straight and not let them see how much Ron's grasp hurt. The last thing they needed was for the Muggle policemen to be notified for a suspected kidnapping, or some such thing.

"Stop this," she hissed. "You're making a spectacle of –"

"Oh, _I'm _making a spectacle?" Ron cried, though he released her and came to a stop in the middle of the pavement. "Not you, with your public displays of –"

"Don't finish that sentence if you want to stay in one piece," she warned, eyes narrowing.

He looked about to retort, but instead he tugged her into a narrow alley between a stationery shop and a Tesco Express and Apparated them away. When Ginny regained her breath she saw that they had turned up at one of the Ministry's Apparition Points. From there, Ron marched her through the Auror department – somehow, without arousing the suspicion of anyone there – and into his own private office. He shut, locked, and warded the door behind them.

"Had trouble finding Malfoy, you said," Ron roared, his face nearly purple. "He's difficult to catch, you don't know where he lives, you said."

"I don't see what –"

Ron spluttered wordlessly before managing to get the words out: "Reckon you forgot to mention that it's awfully hard to look for a bloke whilst he's sticking his bloody _tongue_ down your _throat_!"

Ginny's heart sank. For a moment she'd foolishly hoped he hadn't identified Draco. "I have no idea what you're ranting about, Ron," she said coldly, folding her arms in front of her.

"I know that hair, Ginny," he spat. "I know that wanker's voice. I could tell that was Malfoy from a mile away." He stepped closer, blue eyes cool enough to freeze water. "Sit."

Ginny glared venomously at him, but took the chair by his desk. Ron gestured sharply with his wand, and his own chair moved from behind the desk to right in front of hers; he sat down as soon as the legs touched the floor again. "When did you find him?" Ron demanded.

"Six weeks ago," Ginny blurted out. There was no point in hiding anything anymore.

"Are you…?" Ron's face reddened further, but he ran his hands through his hair and breathed deeply instead of shouting again. "Bloody Merlin's pants, Gin. Six weeks? Six _weeks_?"

"I don't stutter."

"What have you been doing since you found him?"

Ginny looked away, her heart surging forward in pain. "Seeing him."

"Reckon I should've guessed that from the snog he gave you," Ron said bitterly. He leaned back in his seat, deflated. "What're a Malfoy and a Weasley doing snogging like that?"

"He doesn't know anything, Ron," she said. "This case – it's so much bigger now than him just being brought in for murder. Draco – he can't remember anything before November of 1998."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Is that the new trend with the Death Eaters then? During the last war it was claiming you'd been Imperius'd, now it's 'but I can't remember if I tortured and killed Muggles, Minister, I've got amnesia.' Buggering hell, Ginny."

"Would you just shut up and listen to me for a minute without treating me like I'm completely incompetent?" she cried. "Don't you think I thought he was faking it? When I ran into him in St James' Park –"

"Six weeks ago," Ron said pointedly.

She ignored him. "He was playing rugby with Muggles, Ron. Dressed in Muggle clothing, using Muggle terms like he'd known them all his life. When he saw me, he didn't miss a beat. And he's had six weeks now to call me out, but he hasn't. He's got a very rare psychosis called a –"

"A Muggle diagnosis?" Ron said doubtfully, plucking at his lower lip. "You know that won't hold up with the Wizengamot. If the Muggles say there's something wrong with him, fine, but then he'll need to be seen by a Healer. And if it's just some elaborate form of amnesia, the Healers will be able to bring it all back. His memories, that is."

Ginny froze; her knuckles went white on the arms of her chair. "Bring it…back?" she breathed. "You mean – he could remember everything again?"

Ron shrugged. "Sure. Hermione explained it all to me once – remember last year, when her thing was doing all that Wizarding health research? – but I can't quite remember it all now. Something about unlocking parts of the brain that're shut off with amnesia…but yeah, if a memory expert treats him, he'll be good as new again. Ready to take the stand at his trial."

Ginny covered her mouth with her hands. Dear Merlin. She was admittedly ignorant about anything related to Healing, so the idea that Draco's memories could be returned to him at once had never crossed her mind. Perhaps too it had been the fact that his wasn't a straightforward case of amnesia – if there was such a thing – that she'd thought it would be untreatable. But now that she knew it was possible, that the old Draco Malfoy could truly come back – what would become of Ben Hamilton and the life he had made for himself? Would Draco become repulsed by the Walcotts, those wonderful people who had helped him restart his life? Would he sneer at John and Simon and reject their unconditional friendship? Would he wince at the idea that he had actually worked with his hands, serving other people – serving _Muggles_ – in a restaurant?

Would he push her, Ginny, away for being a Muggle lover?

"That's good that it can be brought back," she said hollowly. "I can't think of any precedents for people with amnesia standing trial for crimes."

"Hell, can you imagine the uproar it would cause if he had to?" Ron said. "That Skeeter woman would have a sodding field day with that story if it gets out. She's already made him out to be England's most eligible bachelor, or whatever. The bastard," he added, disgusted.

"If that's the case – then his charge of evasion needs to be wiped from the record," she said. "Before anything else happens, it needs to go."

"Done," Ron said. "That still leaves Creevey and Padma Patil. Speaking of Colin –" He frowned over at his desk, as though looking for something, then shrugged and turned back to her. "The official notice is somewhere, but I can't be bothered. Rabastan Lestrange had his pretrial yesterday afternoon, and he answered in the affirmative to all charges."

"I hope you told Neville that," she said. "Rabastan helped torture his parents to insanity."

"Neville was there, actually," he said. "But anyway, he was asked about Colin's death, and he said the same thing Yaxley did – Malfoy did it. So that accusation is at least airtight."

"And Travers? What did he say?"

Ron clenched his jaw and his fists. "Someone was careless down in the holding cells," he bit off. "Travers managed to get his hands on a wand and turned it on himself, he was found dead early this morning. We've reprimanded the guards, and Lestrange and Yaxley were moved to more secure cells." He kicked at his desk. "The McKinnons are furious, of course. Hermione's going mad trying to calm them down, along with assuring the Creeveys and Patils that the guilty wizard will see justice…" He passed a hand over his face. "Merlin's beard, Gin, everyone's going bonkers these days. Everything's a mess."

Ginny looked down at her hands, a wave of overwhelming guilt crashing over her. The news swirled around her, like the scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, falling at last into place. All of the true Death Eaters had been caught now, and they would at last see their day in court, but the only one the public really wanted to see brought to trial was Draco. The only one she was unwilling to give up.

"Right," Ron said, after an uncomfortable pause. He rose to his feet and started pacing the cramped office, hands clasped behind his back. "We're going to fix your mistakes."

A hot retort came to her lips, but it died unspoken. It was the truth, after all. She had grossly neglected the job she had been hired to do. Once he found out, Harry would have every right to fire her.

"You were dating Malfoy undercover, in order to conduct surveillance on him from as close a position as possible," Ron began.

"How do you know I wasn't doing that in the first place?" Ginny asked.

Ron stopped and looked at her, a pained twist to his lips. "Because I saw your face, Gin," he said quietly. "You – you haven't looked that happy since you started seeing Harry."

Ginny blinked back her tears, thinking of that morning – had it only been a few hours ago? – when she had watched Draco sleeping beside her. When he had told her he loved her. Ron was right: she hadn't felt so boundlessly happy and at ease since the first few years she had dated Harry.

Ron cleared his throat awkwardly and continued his pacing. "Right. Besides that, you wouldn't have needed six weeks of surveillance to determine he didn't remember anything – so you saw him for just a week."

"All right," Ginny said meekly.

"We can claim it was within your rights and a part of your criminal investigation, so no one can accuse you of job misconduct," Ron went on.

"That doesn't matter anymore," she said with a sigh. "Harry will fire me anyway."

Ron raised his eyebrows at her. "Harry's not going to find out a thing," he said, darting his eyes towards the warded door. "Not from me, at least."

Ginny gaped at him. "But – Ron, Harry's your best mate –"

"And you're my sister, Ginny," he said. "I reckon that's more –"

He cut off, for at that moment she had launched herself out of her chair and into his arms, hugging him as tightly as she could. "Thank you," she breathed. "I love you so much, Ron."

"Love you, Gin," he said, patting her uncomfortably on the back. He pulled himself away from her and coughed again to hide his discomfort. "So – I won't tell a soul, about anything said in this room. Because – well, you're my sister – and Mum would murder me with her bare hands."

"She wouldn't –"

"Oh yes she would," Ron said, suddenly serious again. "Do you realise the magnitude of what you've done? You're aiding and abetting a criminal, Gin, keeping him from apprehension. If the Wizengamot ever found out – you'd get a jail term. Do you understand that? They would sendyou to _Azkaban_, and nothing any of us said would keep you out. I wouldn't dare let you do that when Mum's already lost Fred."

Ginny turned away and started fiddling with a picture frame on one of Ron's shelves. It housed a photo of Ron and Hermione, on the day that Rose was born. Hugo bounced excitedly in his father's arm, and Ron had slung the other arm around Hermione, who glowed with pride and happiness at the red-faced baby girl in her arms. "You never explained how you knew where to find me," she said, looking wistfully at her brother's family.

She heard Ron sit on the edge of his desk behind her. "I tracked your wand," he said. "I came round the corner of Barkston Gardens right when you came out of the townhouse with Malfoy, and hid."

"Why? What was so urgent?"

"Gin –" She turned and met his eyes. "We received an Owl from Lucius Malfoy a few hours ago. Narcissa's entered the last phase of her illness. She has about a week to live."

The air slammed out of Ginny's lungs, and she gripped the edge of her chair to remain upright. And there was the worst of her crimes – that she'd kept Draco to herself, while his mother lay dying and desperate to see him one last time. Merlin, what had she done?

"Lucius will donate twice the money he originally planned to give if we can bring Draco to her," Ron said sombrely. "Narcissa asks about him every day. She's running out of time."

Ginny swallowed and nodded, feeling oddly disconnected from her body. "Then we'll need to arrest him," she said.

"You know what you need to do first," Ron said. "If Malfoy's brought in to trial and sees a familiar face, he'll blow everything out of the water."

"I need to break up with him," Ginny said. "And he'll know I'm not on his side."

"Contact me once it's done," Ron said, moving towards his desk. He grabbed a half-chewed Sugar Quill from the top of a stack of books and made a quick notation on a spare bit of parchment. "If he's living like a Muggle, you say, he won't have a wand – I reckon I could take him down myself. You'll stand watch outside his townhouse whilst I do that."

"All right."

"He'll need to be processed first – we could probably request a special dispensation for him to go to Malfoy Manor as soon as possible, considering the circumstances."

"All right," she said again, raising a shaking hand to push back her hair, hair that Draco had so adored. Ginny struggled to inhale, and released her breath slowly. "Ron – he told me he loves me," she whispered.

Ron gave her a sympathetic look. "Then I'm asking you to break his heart."


	21. Shattered Glass

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Twenty – Shattered Glass**

Draco rang her mobile phone shortly after lunch on Thursday; since it had been turned off, Ginny found his voicemail when she left the Ministry that afternoon.

"Just wanted to confirm with you our plans for Friday," his message said. He sounded woefully naïve to Ginny's jaded ear. "I'm working the dinner shift, and since our Fridays are so busy I'm on four until midnight. John and Simon are bringing Mac and Julia, so they said they'd meet you there around seven. Seven-ish? Or thereabouts, you know how punctual they are," he said, chuckling. "And what else… I know I just saw you a few hours ago, but – I miss you like mad already. I love you, Gin."

She deleted the message without replying.

He rang again while she was in her flat later that evening, picking at leftovers and pretending to read a book. The mobile phone lay flat on the end table at her elbow, singing "La Marseillaise" over and over again, until at last it stopped. He left another message. She deleted it unheard.

She went into work the next morning and found Harry perched on the edge of her desk. "What can I do for you, Harry?" she asked quietly, as she draped her bag over the back of her chair.

"Ron's told you about the Owl from Lucius Malfoy?" he said.

Ginny nodded.

"How close are we to nabbing Draco, then?"

"Very close," Ginny said. "We've managed to pinpoint his location, and should have him within a few days."

Harry grinned and pumped his fist into the air. "Merlin, that's fabulous news," he said, standing. "Knew you could do it, Ginny. I can't wait to see the look on that git's face." He patted her shoulder and went into his private office, an extra bounce in his step.

Before she left work for the day, she ducked briefly into Ron's office. "I'm going to do it tonight," she said. "I'll figure out a way to get him alone at the house, when his two roommates are out, and then summon you for the capture. Hopefully tomorrow."

"Good," Ron said. He reached out and took her hand in his own. "Ginny, if there was another way of going about –"

"I know what needs to be done," she said, meeting his eyes squarely. "I just – lost direction for awhile, that's all."

Ron nodded and smiled ruefully at her. "You know – you really are a very good Auror, Gin. One of the best in the department."

"You'll hear from me tomorrow," she said, and she turned on her heel and left.

Seven o'clock came and went. Twice her phone rang: once from Draco, and the second time from John, his name flashing on the phone's little screen. Out of morbid curiosity, or a need to torture herself by hearing his voice, she listened to both of the messages they left.

"Is your phone not working?" Draco asked, sounding concerned. "Did you not get my voicemails? Kinky said they've been waiting nearly two hours for you to arrive, and you haven't yet. Are you all right, is something wrong? Ring me, please, I'm out of my mind."

"You need to ring him back, Ginny," John said in his message. "Look – I know I've been rather mysterious about things up till now, but I honestly thought I had to be. It hasn't been easy doing this, and – oh, bollocks. This isn't the time or place to tell all, you deserve to hear it face to face. Just…ring him. Let him know you're all right. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

After Draco's shift ended at midnight, she gave them a half hour to return to their townhouse before she pulled on a light jacket, grabbed her purse, and headed out. The streets were nearly empty so late at night; only a twenty-four-hour Tesco was open, a lone, bored cashier reading a book behind the counter. Ginny went to her usual place in an alley by a Tube station, where the roar from the passing trains would drown out any noise she made, and Disapparated.

Earl's Court was equally deserted when she arrived there, and her heels clicked on the pavement as she strode up their street. The lights were on in their townhouse, the only one whose inhabitants were still awake. She walked up the front stairs, so recently the scene of her happiest moment.

The door opened before she could knock, and there stood Simon, with his partner Julia on his arm. He started when he saw her standing there. "You are one hard bird ta reach," he said, shaking his head. "Et's aboot time ye stopped by. Someone best have died for you ta nae have rung im."

"I'm sorry," Ginny said. Her voice sounded dead and flat. "Is Ben here?"

"Back in the kitchen," Julia said. "Kinky and I are off to a mate's house, you're welcome to come along if you like?"

"No thanks," Ginny said. "I just came to see Ben."

Julia shrugged. "Suit yourself. More bitter for us, then, eh Kinky?" She laughed and led Simon out the door. Simon, Ginny noticed, didn't even crack a smile.

"Johnny went ta drop off Mac, so he'll be back soon," he said. "Ah think he wants ta talk ta ye – an when Johnny talks, people listen." He gave her a warning look, and followed Julia off into the night.

Draco was in the kitchen, just as Julia had said, leaning over the sink with his head bowed. He was still dressed in his chef's uniform, the tunic's sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His pale hair, long now, and badly in need of a trim, had been pulled back in a short ponytail. She had vastly underestimated the impact seeing him had on her, for all she wanted to do now was go and lose herself in him and bugger all what Ron had told her she had to do.

_But_ _I can't fail_, she thought. _Not this time._

"Ben," she murmured.

He turned at once, anxious gray eyes relaxing into profound relief. "God, Ginny," he said, moving towards her, "I really let my imagination run off with me this time. I thought you had been in an accident, or injured on the job, or –"

He put his hands at her waist before she could stop him, and bent to kiss her. Ginny, panicking, turned her face away from his lips so that he kissed her cheek instead. Her skin burned at the contact, and her senses soared at the scent of herbs and spices that clung to him, mixed with his own unique aroma. She couldn't do this, not with him so close. She stepped back, his hands slipping from her sides.

His face fell utterly, but he smiled so quickly that she thought she might've been seeing things. "All right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, smiling tightly back. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the restaurant tonight, I had other plans."

His eyebrows drew together. "Other…? But I thought we'd agreed that you would come tonight. You said you had something important to tell me?"

"We did, but – I – oh bother, I need to start at the beginning." She chuckled, and his smile became more confident.

"Can I offer you something to drink, then?" He moved towards the wine rack and his fingers danced over the labels. "We've got –"

"No, thanks, I'm not staying long," Ginny said. "I – well, remember that conversation we had whilst we drove to Brighton? We were talking about old partners and things?"

Draco's hand fell back to his side. "Er – yes, I suppose so."

"And I mentioned my last partner – Harry? The one I'd dated for seven years?"

"Sure," Draco said slowly. "Did he – he came by to see you?"

Ginny nodded. "He did, a few weeks ago. I hadn't seen him in a long time, so we did some catching up, talked about a lot of things."

"A few weeks ago?" Draco said, eyes widening. "And you said nothing?"

Ginny shrugged. "I didn't think it important. But… Long story short, Harry told me that he still has feelings for me. He asked if we could pick up where we left off."

Draco laughed a little, sounding slightly hysterical, and ran a hand through his hair. "But you told him no, right? You told him that you already have a partner?"

Ginny looked away immediately, away from the desperate look on his face, her body shaking. _I'm almost there, almost done, hang on…_ "I was afraid this would happen," she said aloud. "Ben – we never decided we would be exclusive. We never made anything official –"

"I thought that was implied," he said. His voice had hardened, and when she looked up she found the old Draco Malfoy, a pale, towering figure of barely controlled rage, standing before her. "I assumed that my intentions towards you were made perfectly clear –"

"Your intentions?" she repeated. "Well, yeah – but I wasn't looking for a serious relationship, Ben. You were just someone to have a bit of fun with now and then."

"A bit of…?" He stared at her blankly, before giving a harsh, forced laugh. "What did you think we were, friends with benefits?"

"I'm not taking the mickey," she snapped. "Obviously you were more invested in this than I was, so here it is: I realised that I still have feelings for Harry as well. And I said yes. We got back together tonight, and I reckoned it wasn't right to leave you thinking we still had something between us, so here I am ending things."

He blinked several times in quick succession. "That's – that's it?"

"I'm dating Harry now," she said, loathing every word out of her mouth. "He's my partner."

"You told me Thursday – _yesterday_ – that you loved me," he cried, moving towards her. "You said it. I heard you, I believed you."

"I said it because you did first," she explained. "I didn't want things to be awkward, you saying it and me not responding in kind. That's all."

"No." Draco shook his head, that odd little smile returning to his face. "No, I don't believe you. It wasn't in what you said, Ginny, it was in what you did. You love me, I know you do."

She turned away, tears rising to the surface. "No, Ben, I don't, and I'm sorry it has to be –"

"Then say it to my face." He grabbed her by the arm and forced her chin up. "Look me right in the eye and swear that you don't love me. _Swear_ it."

Ginny looked up into his eyes and part of her died. Her resolve flickered away, for he was completely right: love wasn't just something said, it was something lived, a way of speaking and acting that defined an entire way of life. And she could tell, looking up at his dear face, that he loved her just as deeply and completely as she loved him. She was about to destroy him.

"I love Harry," she said. "I don't love you, I lied."

Draco reeled away from her on unsteady feet, as though she'd dealt him a physical blow. His hands found purchase at last on the edge of the workspace, and his knuckles went white from the effort. She couldn't see his eyes, for he'd bent his head, breathing hard.

Her heart pounded like a drum in her ears. "Ben –"

Something glass shattered in a cupboard. "Get out of my house."

"I'm sorry you misinterpreted our relationship," she said. "I never wanted this for –"

"Just – just shut up and get out," he roared, whirling towards her. "I should've known – God, and after I told you _everything_ –"

"I didn't ask you to tell me about any of that!" she cried.

"It was all lies," he spat. Two more objects shattered out of sight. "You lied through your teeth to me, you whore."

Ginny's ire rose at once. "How dare you call me that, you –"

"I hope you're well-suited for each other," he bellowed, closing in on her, as glasses and plates began breaking all around them. "You and Harry, I hope he uses you and then leaves you, just as you've –" His voice cracked, and he spun away.

"Don't you –"

"Just _sod off_, you fucking slag!"

Ginny bolted down the corridor without looking back, and she barely registered running into John as he let himself in the front door – "Ginny, what's happening?" – or as she rocketed down the street to her customary point of Apparition. She didn't know where she was going until she arrived there, and saw the Burrow's crooked outline cutting a dark shape on the horizon.

She ran, ran as fast as her legs could carry her, to the back garden and in through the kitchen door. "Mum?" she called, her voice overloud in the darkness, "Mum, are you there?"

Mrs Weasley came down the stairs a few short minutes later, pulling a faded dressing gown round her stout figure. "Ginny dear, you gave us quite a fright!" she cried. "What on earth –?"

"What have I done, Mum?" Ginny shrieked. Her words drowned in the tears that at last poured forth, down her face and neck, held back as they had been for two whole days. Her entire body trembled as she sobbed at the ache that permeated her very bones, at the pain that coursed through her veins. "What have I done?"

It was a testament of her love for her daughter that she said nothing, asked nothing. Mrs Weasley sat at the kitchen table, pulled her adult child into her arms and simply held her, until she was all cried out.


	22. Breaking and Entering

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Twenty-One – Breaking and Entering**

Ginny didn't know where she was when she first awoke the next morning. There wasn't the comforting sound of Saturday morning traffic outside her window, nor the infuriating noise from the Cow Next Door getting her routine shag from her husband before he left for work. Instead she awoke to Gwenog Jones, staring down at her from a massive Holyhead Harpies poster, her strong face pulled in a disgusted sneer. When Gwenog saw that Ginny was up, she turned away and made a fantastic goal against the tiny Keeper in the background of the photo.

Ginny sighed, her skin stiff from her dried tears. Gwenog Jones had been her inspiration and role model for years when she was a child, for Ginny had always admired how she had managed to prove that being a woman wasn't a weakness in such a cutthroat sport. She had told all of her brothers when they wouldn't let her play Quidditch with them that she would play with Gwenog one day, and then they'd see. They'd see that she was capable and strong and independent too.

She rolled over onto her side and on the opposite wall was her Weird Sisters poster, the eight band members all posturing and hamming it up for the photographer. Ginny smiled fondly at them, surprised that her mother had kept her room essentially the same since she had moved out seven years ago. Slowly, Ginny got to her feet and crossed to the poster, reaching out to touch the image of Donaghan Tremlett, the rather fit bass player she had fancied even longer than she'd fancied Harry. She could still remember the fantasy she'd created for them: she would go to a concert and Donaghan would see her in the crowd. Their eyes would meet, forming an instant connection between –

Instantly she was bent over, supporting herself with one hand on the wall, tears streaming down her face as she thought of things that shouldn't have hurt as much as they did. Things like St James' Park on a late summer afternoon, and the plain black-and-white stripes of a Newcastle United football shirt…

The fantasy was over now. Donaghan had been married and, last Ginny knew, was expecting his first child with his lovely wife. Life went on.

Someone tapped at the door, and a moment later Mrs Weasley entered, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. "Ginny dear, I was just going to wake you up," she said, smiling. "Tea?"

"Thanks, Mum," Ginny said hoarsely, accepting the cup and saucer. It was peppermint, her favourite. "Mum –"

"You'll tell me when you're ready, dear," Mrs Weasley said, reaching up to push back some of Ginny's tangled hair. "Merlin knows your father and I were worried out of our minds to have you coming home at an ungodly hour upset like that, but… not until you're ready."

Ginny nodded. "I – I want to talk about it," she said. "I just – Mum –"

"There there, love," Mrs Weasley soothed, as Ginny started crying again. She guided her taller daughter over to the bed, and they sat side-by-side. "Take your time. Have some tea."

Ginny obediently took a sip, and her mother was right, she did feel marginally better. "I was in love, Mum," she whispered. "And I fouled everything up, and –" A small sob left her lips.

Mrs Weasley rubbed her back comfortingly. "In love?" she repeated. "Well, we thought it might be something like that. What happened?"

"A – a gross misunderstanding," Ginny said slowly. "And – it's over now."

"Then this is the boy you started seeing a month or so ago?"

Ginny nodded.

"Ah." Mrs Weasley sat quietly a moment, and Ginny drank some more tea.

"Why does it hurt so much, Mum?" she whispered. "It – it's not physical – it doesn't leave scars or bruises other people can see – but it – it hurts so much more."

"Ginny dear, if it didn't hurt so much, people wouldn't give up everything to have it," Mrs Weasley said, chuckling softly. "That's the contrary nature of human beings, I suppose, that we want things more when we can't have them or they hurt us. But love – when it's real and true – Ginny, there is nothing better in the world." She picked a bit of lint off of Ginny's rumpled trousers. "That's why I was so upset when Bill brought home Fleur for the first time and announced they were to be married. I want what your father and I have for all of you as well – and I couldn't see beyond Fleur's looks."

"You thought Bill had been pulled in by her Veela blood?"

"Exactly," Mrs Weasley said. "You can imagine my relief when I discovered they were really in love. And they are, you can tell just by looking at them."

Ginny paused, biting her lip. "Mum," she said, "I don't think I ever loved Harry that way."

Mrs Weasley sighed. "I think I already knew that," she admitted. "I'm glad you know that now as well. Harry's a good boy, and he'll always be welcome in our home – but I suppose you can't force what won't fit together." She looked down at Ginny. "So if you know you don't love Harry, how do you know that what you felt for this other boy was love?"

Ginny's lips trembled, and she looked down in her lap. "He made me whole," she said. "I felt – like the best version of myself when I was with him."

"I'm so sorry, Gin," Mrs Weasley said, and she put her arm around Ginny and drew her close. "If I could bear this burden for you I would."

"I'll get over this, won't I?" she asked. "I won't always feel this way?"

"Time heals all wounds," Mrs Weasley said. "With maybe a bit of help from your favourite food? I've got chocolate chip drop-scones on the stove downstairs for breakfast."

Ginny smiled weakly. Leave it to her mother to go out of her way to make her feel better. "Thanks, Mum," she said. "I'll be down in a minute, I just want to wash my face."

"Take your time," Mrs Weasley said again. She took Ginny's empty teacup and went back down to the kitchen.

Ginny scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand and got up to go to the loo. The face above the sink shocked her – she looked drawn and pale, her freckles standing out darkly on her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were rimmed with red, weak and watery with wet trails wending away from them.

This would not do. Determined, Ginny turned on the tap and splashed cold water onto her skin. She would not be some simpering damsel in distress who cried at the drop of a hat, who thought she would die if she couldn't have the man she loved. She had always scorned those women, so prevalent in the fairy tales her mother had told her when she was younger. No, she would be strong and focused, and nothing and no one would be able to cut her legs out from under her.

Not even thoughts of certain sous chefs who would remain nameless.

Mrs Weasley's drop-scones were as delicious as she remembered, and they talked about everything except Draco as they ate. But later, as Ginny helped her mother clean up the breakfast mess, the topic crept up on them again. "I won't tell you that it'll be easy," Mrs Weasley said abruptly, as Ginny dried her hands, "but I will say that there is an end in sight. You'll meet someone else, Ginny, who'll make your heart soar and your feet leave the ground… It won't always be this bad."

Ginny refrained from saying that she had already met someone who did that.

"Just go home and have a good cry," Mrs Weasley went on. "A good cry does wonders. Let yourself have a bit of self-pity, I think you're entitled."

"Thanks so much, Mum," Ginny said, hugging her tightly. "I think I'm going to go back now, actually."

"Oh, I didn't mean to run you out," Mrs Weasley said quickly. "If you'd like you can –"

"No, I've got to go grocery shopping, that sort of thing. Love you."

"I love you too, Ginny dear. Say goodbye to your father."

Ginny stopped in the shed in the back garden to hug and kiss Mr Weasley goodbye, then walked out beyond the wards that surrounded the Burrow, into the fields that encircled their land. A warm breeze played with her hair, and Ginny inhaled deeply of the country air. Going home always rejuvenated her. She hoped that Draco had gone to Brighton and was receiving the same renewal, a fresh start. She hoped John and Simon would be there for him.

Ginny Disapparated and reappeared directly in her Bloomsbury flat, instantly overwhelmed. The last time she had been in this room, she had been with Draco. His heart hadn't been broken, neither had hers. They had been happy.

The room blurred, and Ginny was on her bed, sobbing with abandon into her pillow. She didn't care what her mother said about crying being therapeutic; it felt anything but just then. Her throat was rough and sore, her nose stuffed, her skin dried out – and all she could see was the crushed look on Draco's face when she'd rejected his kiss. The disbelief when she told him she didn't love him.

_But I do!_ she thought miserably. _I do, more than anything, absolutely anything!_

She fell into a fitful sleep, where she dreamed that she was back in Draco's kitchen and it was night again. He had one hand extended to her, and in it was a green-and-silver Slytherin tie. "Is this mine?" he asked, frowning down at it.

"Yes, don't you remember?" she said.

"I don't remember anything," he said. "Remember?"

She took the tie out of his hands and put it around his neck, tying it up the way she'd had to learn to do. "There. Now do you remember?"

"Quidditch," he said at once. "Wiltshire. Dobby."

She jumped up and down excitedly, and the cupboard doors all banged open and their contents fell to the floor. "You did it!" she cried, crunching bits of plates underfoot. "What else?"

"That's all," he said. "What about your tie?"

"John has it," she said, but how she knew he had it she didn't know. "He's coming soon, he promised he would. Then we'll match."

A knock came at the door, and Draco and Ginny both went down the corridor to answer it. John stood on the front step, a red-and-gold tie in hand.

"Not yet," John said. The knocking continued, even though the door was open. "Not yet, Ginny, there's a way to do things. I'll show you."

"You will?" Ginny said, and she woke herself up with the sound of her own voice speaking. She was in her own bedroom, in her own flat, and Draco in his Slytherin tie was gone.

The knocking noise continued.

Ginny buried her head under her pillow. Bloody Cow Next Door, and her bloody banging on the walls every time she climaxed. The woman really should have considered what it was like for everyone else in the building, able to hear her whenever she –

Ginny sat up abruptly. It wasn't the Cow Next Door; this sound was different. This sound was coming from…her sitting room?

Her heart jumped to her throat and she snatched up her discarded wand. Intruders. She'd heard horror stories about people being robbed in broad daylight – of all things, to happen right after the worst day of her life –

Ginny crept stealthily out of her bedroom and down the short hall that led to the front of the flat. She reached the kitchen first, and now she could hear low voices speaking, too low to distinguish. It sounded like there was more than one of them.

_They'll regret the day they tried to steal anything from me_, Ginny thought, just before she burst into the sitting room.

John and Simon jumped in surprise in front of the sofa.

"What in _bloody hell_ is going on here?" Ginny shrieked. "What –"

"Ginny, we need to talk," John said calmly, and he stepped forward.

At that, she drew her wand and turned it on him. "Move and I'll hex you," she hissed. "I'll be the one –"

Before her eyes, John made a complicated motion with his hand – and moments later, a wand appeared out of thin air. He pointed it at her.

"See! See!" Simon cried, gesturing frantically at Ginny while she was tongue-tied. "Did ah nae tell ye, John? Didn ah fookin _tell_ ye she was a witch?"


	23. Far From Home

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Two – Far From Home**

"Ah told ye she was a witch," Simon said gleefully. "An you said no, ye did nae think so –"

"Both of you are going to sit down and start talking," Ginny ordered, pointing her wand at both of them. "And you're going to put your wand away, Mister Palmer."

"Not until I know you're not going to hex us," John said, calm as ever. "You're in an emotional state right now –"

"Compared ta Ben she looks perfectly sane, ta me," Simon said darkly.

Ginny's heart lurched at the mention of Draco, but she maintained her composure. "Sit," she commanded. "Now."

They sat. John left his wand in his grip. Simon looked up at her pleasantly, as though they had just stopped by for a casual visit.

"Now you're going to tell me your real names and what you are," Ginny said. "Starting with you, Kinky."

"Real name?" Simon said, snickering. "Tha es me name, since the day ah was born. Maybe you've heard of me old dad – Hiram Kincaid?"

Ginny gaped. "Hiram…? As in the senior undersecretary to the Minister of Magic?"

"She's so smart, esn't she smart?" Simon said to John. "Tha's the one, love. Ahm a pureblood Squib, ah am. Few purer. Have nae seen me family since ah was fourteen, when they kicked me out o the house for nae bein a wizard."

Ginny blinked, and shook her head to clear it. "And you?" she said, turning to John. "You're clearly a wizard. How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight," John said.

She did a quick calculation, and figured that he would've been in Fred and George's year. "Why don't I remember you from Hogwarts?"

John looked surprised. "I didn't go to Hogwarts," he said slowly.

"Ah was right aboot tha as well, Mister Palmer," Simon crowed. "She cannae tell."

"I suppose I've been here so long my accent has faded," John wondered aloud. "Ginny – I'm not British, I'm Australian."

Ginny sat down, hard, in the chair opposite them. Merlin's short pants. This was just sodding perfect – not only were they not Muggles, they weren't even nationals. "Right," she breathed. "We're – I – oh bollocks."

"You're wonderin how ah knew ye was a witch," Simon said, nodding.

"That would help," Ginny admitted. Remembering herself, she raised her wand. "And you're going to tell me. When did you know?"

"O'Neill's," Simon said. "Yours an Ben's first date."

"You most certainly did not," John retorted.

"Mate, ah may be a Squib, but ahm nae stupid," Simon said, rolling his eyes. "Ah told you, ah can sense magic en other people, and ah felt a bit tingly-like when we first saw Ginny sittin under tha tree at the park. So ah snogged her at O'Neill's, just ta be certain, an ah was right. Skin-ta-skin contact es always the way ah can tell. Ahm nae actually tha randy, just for future reference."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ginny said weakly.

"I've suspected since the day you didn't recognise Tony Blair's name," John said. "I wasn't absolutely certain until now. I didn't sense a thing, but I imagine you must have some kind of Cloaking spell on you?"

"Yeah," Ginny said. "As a safety precaution, I use it everywhere I go."

"And I'm Muggleborn, by the way," John added. "If that's relevant at all."

"Right," Ginny said, mentally collating all this new data. "Now – we talk about Ben."

"Well, come 'ead," Simon interjected, "let's call em by his real name, now. You know et, right?"

Ginny blinked. "But I was certain that John knew who he was."

"I have no contact with the Wizarding world here, so I don't know who Ben is," John said. "All I did was register my wand so they wouldn't arrest me for unlawful use, but I live like a Muggle most of the time and it drives me absolutely mad. I honestly didn't expect to have to be here for eight years."

"Have to be here?" Ginny repeated. "Why would you _have_ to –"

"Name first!" Simon insisted. "Ahve been dyin ta learn his real name for years!"

"Oh." Ginny cleared her throat. "Well, it's – Draco Scorpius Malfoy."

"Draco Scorpius?" John frowned. "Like the constellations?"

"Are his parents hippies or sommat?" Simon asked.

"No – his parents are some of the most narrow-minded, bigoted purebloods in British society. Fantastically wealthy to boot. If they knew he was hanging about with a Muggleborn and a Squib, they'd have a fit."

"I was afraid of that," John said with a sigh. "It's not going to be easy, is it?"

"We always knew et would nae be easy," Simon said. "Since the beginning, mate."

"And that's where you're going to start next," Ginny said sternly. "The beginning."

"No dice, love," Simon said, his countenance darkening at once. "You're gonna listen ta us for a mo. You're gonna learn exactly what et es you've done ta the boyo."

"Yeah," John said venomously. His usually warm brown eyes had gone completely cold. "In a word, Ginny, you've gutted him."

"He's only been this bad once before," Simon said. "But we knew what ta do. Locked up all the prescription drugs an his butcher knives, we did."

"What?" Ginny cried, quite forgetting that she had her wand trained on them. "He's not going to –"

"He's not going to kill himself, no," John assured her quietly. "But since he's tried to before, Uncle Peter insists that we take every precaution when he becomes severely depressed. We've been on suicide watch since you left early this morning. He's not to be left alone for even a second, we've got a mate watching him for us now."

"Yeah, ah have nae slept since Thursday evenin," Simon spat. "So, ye know, ta for that."

"Neither has he," John said. "He won't sleep, he won't eat, he won't even go upstairs to his bedroom. Hasn't changed his clothes –"

"Bit smelly now," Simon added.

"Stop," Ginny begged, and the tears she had so successfully kept at bay came flooding forth. "Please, stop it –"

"He doesn't cry either," John said, sounding thoughtful. He turned to Simon. "Have you seen him cry?"

"Nary a drop," Simon said.

"No," John went on, "he sits on the floor in the parlour, back in the corner with a blanket round his knees, and just stares. Doesn't say a word. I had to call Sam at the restaurant and ask him to give Ben – Draco – the week off."

Ginny hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Each word was like thorns digging into her heart, poison sliding into her ears. If she could have done – if she had a Time Turner – she would have gone back to that night in an instant, and she would have kissed him so hard they both would be breathless…

"You love him," John said.

Ginny nodded, wiping at her face. "With all my heart," she whispered.

The two of them sighed and leaned back on Ginny's sofa, looking at each other. "Something else is going on here," John said slowly. "Bigger, maybe, then the two of us and Ben."

"Hippie boy," Simon corrected. "Dragon Scorpion. Drakmar Malloy."

John snickered. "Draco, you great whacker."

"Be serious here for a mo, John, bloody Christ," Simon scolded. "Ah think we've got half the story and Ginny Weasley here's got the other, but sommat's rotten en Denmark."

Ginny was about to point out that that had been obvious from the start, when his words finally processed in her brain. "You said Weasley," she blurted out.

"Ah might've done," Simon said innocently. "Me old dad only works with your brother Percy, ye know. Me cousin Nora Wallace still keeps en touch with me, and she did a bit o pokin around ta discover that bit o truth. Nora –"

"Was in Ravenclaw a year behind me," Ginny finished dazedly.

"But we were going to tell her about how we met and how we found Draco," John reminded Simon.

"That we were." He raised one eyebrow at Ginny. "Ahm history, ah am. The perfect Ministry project. A complete anomaly ta everything wizards think they know aboot their heritage."

Ginny took the bait. "Why's that?"

"Because ahm a Squib – cannae produce so much as a spark with a wand – but ahm also a very gifted Seer."

"Get on," she said in disbelief.

"Mister Palmer, what have ah accurately predicted en the past ten years?"

John raised one hand and began ticking them off on his fingers. "You knew about the World Trade Centre and London Transit attacks a few days before they happened –"

"Aye."

"You knew who the next British Minister of Magic was going to be before he was even nominated."

"Oh, aye."

"And one day, whilst on holiday in a little town in Australia," John said, looking at Ginny, "he predicted something that hit a bit closer to home. A lot closer."

Ginny couldn't tear her eyes from his. Her fingers clenched the arms of her chair until her knuckles went white.

"Ahve been on me own since ah was fourteen," Simon said, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "Stayed en different Muggle and Wizarding foster homes here an there, all over Scotland an England. Then aboot nine years back, for nary a reason at all, ah started itchin ta go ta Australia. An here ah am thinkin, Bloody hell, what would ah want en _Australia_? But ah knew, by then ah knew ah had this power, an ah knew ta nae ignore et. So ah went, an ah went right ta Palmer."

"We ran into each other on the Sunshine Coast, in Queensland," John said. "Literally. He was staying in a hostel near the beach, and I was visiting family. He'd started working at a surf shop to raise money for his return journey back to England, and I wanted to rent a board."

"Ah knew he was important right away," Simon said. "Ah saw flashes of the two of us en London, en our very same flat."

"So you just left Australia and followed him halfway across the globe?" Ginny asked sceptically.

"I'm not a hasty person normally, but yes, I did," John explained. "We got to know each other, hung about, then one night, whilst we were walking down the beach, he suddenly stopped and his eyes rolled back in his head." John shrugged. "And he delivered the prophecy that changed both our lives."

"There's a prophecy?" Ginny breathed.

"What es et again?" Simon asked, frowning. "Ah cannae remember et."

John lifted his hips and reached into his pocket. "I carry it everywhere with me," he said. "I would read it each time I felt that it would never come true, but then you came, Ginny, and I had hope again." He pulled out a square of parchment, worn and creased from years of folding and unfolding, and opened it. "This isn't exact – but it's close enough, and if I really wanted to be precise about it I'd have no trouble putting it in a Pensieve."

"Ahll let ye do the honours," Simon said, gesturing to him.

John cleared his throat. " 'Born twice and twice in war, the hollow man arrives at winter's gate cold and alone. But he is made welcome by the outcast and the wizard of men born, who take him into their hearts and keep him safe. There they await in the great city by the river for the woman of fire, his only chance at completion, his only chance for salvation, for the salvation of all. Look for the hollow man twice born in war.'"

The silence rang in her ears after he had finished. Ginny had to force herself to breathe again, for she had not as he had read. "Merlin," she whispered.

"After he delivered the prophecy, we made the decision to head back to London at once," John continued his story. "My parents were confused and couldn't understand why I was leaving the country with someone I barely knew, but they were supportive. They even moved here, to my mum's old home in Blackburn, to be nearby if I needed them. We found Draco almost immediately, and knew right away that he was the one we were looking for."

"Pete Walcott came an saw us as we were lookin for a flat en the city," Simon said. "We put et out tha we wanted a three-bedroom flat, an he said, Well boyos, ahve got someone ye might like ta meet, and there was Dragon boy himself, a man with no past."

"The hollow man," John said. "That was what truly convinced me that we were doing the right thing. He was just – so lost, you know?" A pained look came across his face, and he leaned back again. "No matter what they may have done, no one deserves to lose everything the way Ben – Draco – did."

"We've done ewt but protect him these eight long years," Simon finished. "When he started showin signs o magic – we did nae know he'd be a wizard – we kept et quiet and just bided our time. We waited for the woman of fire."

"For you, Ginny," John said. "And here you are."

Ginny shuddered and pulled her legs into her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them. This was…too much. Too much. What was she supposed to _say_ to something like that?

"Ah do have one question tha's bothered me," Simon piped up. "Ah am nae understandin why, ef Dragon boy's a wizard, we could nae have returned him ta his family ourselves. He's been gone eight years, yeah? His family must be out o their heads with worry."

Ginny worked through all of the kinks and threads in her mind, and suddenly, it all became glaringly obvious. "That's –" She cleared her throat. "That's one question I can answer," she said hoarsely.


	24. The Hands of Fate

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Three – The Hands of Fate**

"Enlighten us, then," Simon said, gesturing for her to continue. "Tell us why we had ta wait for ye. Ah mean, we thought this whole protection thing would take a year tops – an here we are eight years later tryin desperately ta get our woman o fire to do her soddin job."

"But – no, you know what? Just – just _stop_." Ginny scrambled to her feet, wand clenched tightly in one hand. "I've sat here and listened to your entire epic tale, and it's very pretty and all – dramatic in just the right parts – but I'm not so sure I believe a single bloody word of it."

John leapt to his feet after her, brows furrowed thunderously. "Don't believe it?" he cried. "I have given up eight years of my life, and you –"

"That's another thing!" Ginny said, pointing at Simon. "I don't believe there is such a thing as Seers. My experience has been that they're all bollocks. No one can predict the future, or divine answers, or – and trying to convince me that you're a Squib on top of that? No! It doesn't work that way!"

Simon stood as well. "Gimme your wand, Palmer," he said. John tossed it to him, and Simon caught it neatly with one hand. "What should ah try, then?" His voice had assumed a bitter tone as he twirled the cherry wand. "A Freezin Charm? Would ye like some flowers, love? _Wingardium__Leviosa_," he said, pointing at Ginny's coffee table.

She waited for it to move. It didn't budge an inch.

"Ahm a fookin Squib," he spat. He flung the wand away and John barely caught it. "Want ta go over your shortcomings an faults next, then?"

"Take it easy, Kinky," John began, reaching towards him.

"Whatever." Simon folded his arms across his broad chest, and his dark eyes pierced Ginny's. "Ef your only experience with so-called Seers has been with Sibyl Trelawney, then ah can understand why ye'd think it was bollocks. Ah hate the cow as well. But do nae be narrow-minded."

"You see flashes of the future?" Ginny asked disdainfully. "You know about –"

"How's George been lately?"

Ginny's heart leapt to her throat, and the rest of her words died unspoken. "How –"

Simon tilted his head to one side and stared off at the corner of the room, and suddenly his eyes become solid black spheres, as though they had been swallowed by his pupils. Ginny shivered violently; nothing had ever disturbed her so much as seeing him like that. "Ah," he said quietly. "Fred was nae just his brother. They were twins."

"Draco told you about my brothers," Ginny stuttered, her heart pounding. A strange tension had filled the room, humming just under the surface of her skin, like the distant coming of a thunderstorm. "I told him all their names, he passed on the –"

"Ah see spiders envolved – big ones. Help me, mate."

"Black widows, tarantulas," John offered. "Acromantulas."

"Them. Did nae tell your Ben Hamilton tha detail, did ye?" Simon challenged, raising an eyebrow at nothing. "Did nae tell him tha Freddie died the same day Ben lost his memory, did ye?"

"I –"

"Oh, an he does nae know that George's en love with – what's er name?" Simon frowned up at the ceiling now, and the electrical charge in the air heightened. John, between them, rubbed his arms, and Ginny found that she couldn't feel her fingertips. "Angel. Angela. Angelina, that's et. The guilt destroys him, because she was Fred's girl, so he cannae do anathin aboot et. He –"

"That's quite enough," Ginny cried, her heart pounding.

"That's good, Kinky," John murmured, and immediately the air stabilised and returned to normal. Simon swayed on his feet slightly, and shook his head. "Do you require further demonstration?" John said to Ginny.

"All right, I – believe you," Ginny said breathily. "You're a Squib and a Seer. And you're –"

"Australian, but I'm afraid the only way I can prove that is if I make a conscious effort to bring back my accent," John drawled, and sure enough, she could hear his foreign speech patterns clearly now. "Should I start calling you a bonzer sheila?"

A smile started across Ginny's face, for she was grateful to John for lightening the mood after Simon's unnerving demonstration, but she corrected herself right away. "Very cute," she snapped. "If all of this is so important – if I'm the woman of fire, and Draco is the hollow man – then why didn't you ever _say_ anything?" She strode right up to John, who was a good half-foot taller than her, and stared him down. "Your silence is the reason I'm here now and not with Draco, and the reason why he's sitting in a corner doing nothing."

John winced and looked away. "I know," he said quietly. "I – I bollocksed everything up and I'm well aware of it."

"We did nae say a word because we did nae think we should interfere," Simon said, pulling John away from Ginny. "Ah found Palmer by just runnin enta him, an we found Dragon boy by nae lookin for him. We reckoned you would just folla the prophecy ef ye did nae know et."

"The only reason the prophecy came true is because you made it come true," Ginny said. "If you had never gone to Australia and had never met John but still made that prophecy, nothing would've happened."

"I don't know about that," John began.

Ginny cut him off with a sharp laugh. "You've heard of Harry Potter?"

"Of course I have," he said, and Simon nodded.

"There was a prophecy made about him and Tom Riddle," she explained. "Riddle believed that it was true, and he believed it so much that he went to circumvent it, but in doing so, _made_ it true. Who's to say that if he hadn't gone after Harry, Harry still would've been the only one able to defeat him?"

John frowned at her. "Who told you that?"

"Harry himself," Ginny said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "We dated for seven years. My brother is Ron Weasley, his best mate."

"Tha's why ah recognise your name!" Simon cried, smacking his forehead. "Weasley, Weasley!"

"Well, that doesn't matter, because we believe the prophecy and already set it in motion," John said dismissively. "Now answer Kinky's first question."

"Which was?"

"Why did we have to wait for you, and why are you so against delivering Draco back to his home and family?"

"Because I'm an Auror," she declared, "and two eyewitnesses claim to have seen him commit murder eight years ago. I've been assigned to arrest him."

They stared at her incredulously for a moment, then at each other, before breaking into hesitant smiles. "Bollocks," John said. "Complete, utter bollocks –"

"We're talking aboot the same boyo, aye?" Simon said. "The one who queued up for seven hours ta get tickets to Morrissey's live concert two years back? The one who eats sugar like et's goan out o style? Tha boyo?"

"The Ben Hamilton you know is nothing like his actual personality," Ginny said. "He's cruel, and petty, and –"

"Well he _was_ a tosser when we first met him," John said thoughtfully to Simon. "Very quiet, and thought himself a bit above us. A real blueblood."

"Yeah, but we removed tha stick from his arse soon enough," Simon said, snickering.

"And that doesn't seem to have hampered your ability to fall in love with him," John said, raising his eyebrows at her.

Ginny bit down on her lip and looked away, trying not to think of Draco and the way he was, now or then. "I wasn't meant to," she said. "I was just – supposed to find him and bring him in, and they would try him –"

"Do you honestly believe that he's capable of murder?" John asked gently. "Either as Ben Hamilton or as Draco Malfoy?"

Ginny shook her head. "But it doesn't matter," she said. "There's a warrant out for his arrest. If I don't bring him in someone else will, and nothing will change that."

"We cannae let them arrest him for sommat he did nae do," Simon said to John.

"But the prophecy," John said. "The woman of fire –"

"How es he ta find his salvation en _Azkaban_, eh?" Simon pressed. "They'll throw em en there over me cold dead body, they will."

"It's out of our hands, Kinky," John said. "It always has been. We were just meant to keep him safe until Ginny came –"

"No," Simon said, shaking his head. "Ahm nae lettin em try him for murder. He did nae do et, Johnny!"

"Kinky –"

"You can testify at his trial, John," Ginny said, having a sudden brainstorm. They both turned and looked at her. "I mean – Dr Walcott is really the one who knows all about dissociative fugues, but they won't allow his testimony since he's a Muggle. John can tell the Wizengamot what he knows –"

"I'm not a British citizen," John said.

"But they won't hear Simon either, since he's a Squib," Ginny said, clasping her hands together. "Surely –"

"Tha's why you're so important, love," Simon said slowly. "You know et all, the whole story – an you're a pureblooded witch, yeah? En good standing? _You've_ got ta do the testifyin."

"I'm the Auror on his case, I can't –""Try, Ginny. Try an do et, ef ye love Dragon boy."

Tears came to her eyes again, and she looked away to collect herself. This was absolutely ludicrous, everything they had just flung at her in so short a time. Somehow, while she had been sleeping and while they had had their conversation, the day had started coming rapidly to a close. The sunlight slanting in through her windows was golden and full of shadows, and traffic had picked up with the daily homeward commute. Ron was expecting her to contact him. She needed to do so soon, before he Floo'd her and found Simon and John in her sitting room.

"I must arrest him tonight," she said. She turned back to them. "It's going to be done whether you like it or not."

Simon sighed and scuffed his trainer on her carpet.

"I'm going to contact my brother and we'll go to the townhouse," she went on. "You two need to make yourselves scarce, or Ron will Obliviate you."

"Last thing I need is an Obliviation headache," John grumbled.

"If – if they make the pretrial and trial public, I'll give you the dates and times," she said.

"Ah know how ta get enta the Ministry," Simon said, when it looked like John was about to ask just that.

"Can – can you give us an hour or so to say goodbye?" John asked in a small voice. "I don't want to just – leave him – without saying anything, you know?"

"Bloody hell," Simon moaned, and he turned his back on them and bowed his head. John gripped his shoulder tightly.

"Fine," Ginny said. "I can give you until eight. And then…" She inhaled and released a shuddering breath. "If things could be done any differently –"

"It's out of our hands," John repeated. "Only you can deliver him, not us. Our part is done."

Simon sniffed loudly and turned back to them. "Let's go," he said hoarsely, his eyes rimmed in red. "Ah cannae deal with this much longer."

"We'll go," John assured him. He grabbed Simon's arm and tightened his grip on his wand. Before he could Apparate away, he met Ginny's eyes dead on.

"Do the right thing, Ginny," he said.

"I'll try," she whispered.

The sharp _crack_ of their Apparition rang through her empty flat.

It was a quick, simple matter of contacting Ron and telling him that Draco would be alone in his townhouse later that evening. Ron congratulated her for her work, and said he would meet her in front of the Earl's Court Tube station at half-past eight. The Department of Mysteries, where the criminal holding cells were located, had already been notified that a new inmate was on his way, and Harry knew a capture attempt was on for that night. Everything had been set in motion. There was no turning back.

Ginny moved as though underwater, seeing the world around her through a glass plate that held her back from feeling. The normally tight squeeze about her lungs when she Apparated felt like a dull embrace, and Ron's brilliant red hair looked like tarnished copper when it caught in the lights above them at the Tube station.

"Are you ready?" he said, comfortable and at ease in his Muggle clothes.

"I'm ready," she said hollowly.

They walked down the street until they came to Barkston Gardens, then crossed and walked towards the red-brick townhouse. A lone light shone from the sitting room window. Simon's car, usually parked in front of Draco's, was gone.

"Set up wards around the house," Ron instructed her. "Silencing, Muggle Repellent, the usual ones. I'll help you secure the area, then go in and take him."

"Fine."

They patrolled up and down the street, strolling casually to the untrained eye, but simply checking to see that no one was around to notice any suspicious activity. The hotel nearby was bustling as usual, but Draco's townhouse was in the shadows, and none of the guests noticed anything but themselves and their taxis. Once there were sure that the area had been thoroughly evaluated and found satisfactory, they returned to the front stoop. Ginny mechanically set up the necessary wards.

"If you don't hear me Apparate by the time five minutes are up, come in for me," Ron said. "Otherwise, once I'm gone, follow me to the Ministry." Ginny nodded and took a seat on the top step. She didn't watch Ron magic the locks open and slip in through the front door.

She looked at an elderly couple dressed in expensive clothes hail a taxi and get in. She saw a little girl tug on her mother's hand and reach for a hanging basket of flowers.

Ginny shifted on the step slightly, wondering where John and Simon were.

A loud _crack_ came from within.

It was done. The long-lost Draco Malfoy had at last returned to the Wizarding world.


	25. Second Wind

**Chapter Twenty-Four – Second Wind**

Ron had told her to follow after as soon as he Apparated to the Ministry, but Ginny couldn't even make herself pull out her wand. Someone laughed loudly down the street, in front of the hotel, and it was such a strange concept. There were people happy elsewhere in the world? People who still laughed and were in love and had no reasons to cry?

_No more tears_, she told herself firmly, and her eyes stayed dry. At some point, either within the hour or the next day, she was going to have to see Draco for the first time since leaving him, and she could not give away anything. She would have to be present at his pretrial and trial and she had to look at him and forget that she knew what it was like to kiss him, or how his hands felt on her skin. Forget it completely. Wipe it from her mind.

She leaned her head against the brick railing and sighed, staring up at the starless sky. One never could see the stars in London, even on the rare occasions it was clear. Draco had driven her out nearly to Salisbury one night over a month ago just to stargaze. They had set themselves up on the bonnet of his car in some tiny village, with a picnic supper and millions of stars suddenly available to them up above.

"The sky almost looks like you can reach out and touch it," he had murmured. "Like it's right above our heads."

"I forgot there were this many stars," she said. "I haven't seen them in so long."

"So…good idea, despite the drive?"

She grinned at him. "Very good idea. Thanks very much for thinking of it."

It was then that he had reached over and taken her hand in his, the first time he'd ever done so. Ginny's heart had skipped a beat as she realised that their hands went perfectly together, his rough palm warm against her smaller one. They just fit. Ginny had never felt so utterly content before, so –

_He made me whole._

Ginny sat slowly upright, eyes wide.

_There they a__wait__ the woman of fire, his only chance at completion_

_I felt like the best version of myself when I was with him_

_The woman of fire._

_He made me whole._

She had been nothing but professional in her brief career as an Auror – she'd caught Thorfinn Rowle, hadn't she? And that crazed witch who had tried to kill the Minister of Magic during a public address? And countless others, before she'd broken up with Harry and he had relegated her to the menial cases no one else wanted to take. There had even been other attractive wizards involved – Danny O'Connell, who'd worked with her on the assassination attempt, was as fit as they came, second only perhaps to Oliver Wood. Ginny had had a massive crush on him throughout the case. But _that_ hadn't affected her work; she wouldn't let it. Danny probably hadn't even noticed.

The Weasleys had always hated the Malfoys. Always. Which did not explain in the least why she had been so quick to fall for Draco while on an important case. The manner in which she'd found him – out of the blue, when she'd least expected it – the fantastical psychosis that had wiped away his early life, the prophecy, the _prophecy…_

And that was what truly made her believe that the prophecy was real. There was no doubt of Simon's ability – it wasn't just anyone who could control the energy and magical essence in the air – but the prophecy itself… They really did complete each other. She truly was the woman of fire.

And where had her fire gone? Missing in action since she'd first realised she was in love with Draco.

His only chance for salvation. _She_ was his only chance.

What was that sappy phrase they all said in the trashy romance novels, the one when it looked like the hero and heroine wouldn't live happily ever after?_ If you love him, then you'll let him go._ And she would, she would gladly fight for him and make sure he never darkened Azkaban's door, and if when it was over he wanted nothing to do with her – she would let him go. She deserved to be without him, the way she had been blinded by her emotions for so long. Gwenog Jones would never have let her feelings affect her Quidditch game, right?

Decided, she went to her usual spot and Disapparated, appearing again in an alley near the public toilets entrance. This late at night, there was no Apparating directly into the Ministry; Ron had had to be given a special clearance in advance. She entered a random stall and flushed herself down, then waved to Eric as she walked past the security station. The Ministry always looked a bit scary without anyone in it, with its massive arched ceilings and the oddly realistic statue of Dumbledore standing where the old one had been – the one no one liked to talk about.

Then down, down she went to the Department of Mysteries, the lift clanking and groaning with every inch it moved towards her destination. She jumped when the grille clanged open and she found Harry standing right in front of her.

"You did it. You did it, Gin!" he cried, whooping for joy and pulling her into a half-dancing hug. Ginny just went along for the ride. "That's all of them, the last of the Death Eaters! God, we'll need to plan something to celebrate –"

"Then you've seen him?" Ginny said, extricating herself from his grip.

"Ron came through here about fifteen minutes ago with Malfoy Stunned," Harry explained. He pulled on her arm and dragged her down the corridor, towards the holding cells, she assumed. "Now that he's been found, here comes the fun part: we'll need to arrange for a press release to the _Daily Prophet_, set a pretrial date – the Minister will want to know, so he can include it in his Annual Address –"

Ron suddenly came out of the arch that led a level down to the courtrooms and holding cells. "Gin, he looks a bit peaky," he said, frowning. "He wasn't sick last you saw him, was he?"

Ginny's eyes bulged in shock. "Oh God," she breathed, her heart pounding, even as she thought _But it can't be, they said he wouldn't…_. "Ron, quick – go up to the medical station and get dittany, murtlap essence, bandages, and Blood Replenishing Potion."

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"Just get it, you pillocks!" she cried, pushing past Ron to scramble down the stairs, down the stone corridor all the way to the end, until she reached the two guards who protected the holding cells. She flashed her Auror badge at them and they stood aside to let her pass.

Rabastan Lestrange stood at the door to his cell as she rocketed past. "Do they let us have conjugal visits now?" he cackled, leering at her. Ginny barely spared him a glance, instead shooting forward and looking back and forth for Draco. Down here, in the very bowels of the Ministry, the only light came from the wall sconces lit every few yards on the wall, flickering wildly though the air was stagnant. The corridor was lined with metal-cased wooden doors, with small barred squares at the top. It was far preferable to be held here than to go to Azkaban – but the improvement was only slight.

She found him, at last, halfway down on the right side, curled up in the corner of his bare cell. With a wave of her wand she undid the complicated locking charm, and slipped inside to see him.

Ron was right – Draco looked deathly pale in the faint firelight, accentuated by the fact that he still wore his white chef's tunic. His eyes were closed, his arms pressed to his chest, his breath too quick. She knelt beside him and, against her better judgement, tenderly brushed the back of her hand against his face, startled to find it cold.

"What did you do?" she whispered. "Where is it?"

His eyelids fluttered open, and he leaned into her touch. "Ginny," he sighed.

"You promised me," she said, voice shaking with anger. "You promised you wouldn't try anything like this ever again."

He recoiled from her then, his lip curling in disgust, his eyes as hard as steel. "I take back everything I ever promised or said to you," he hissed. At the same time, he lowered his right arm, and she saw the jagged piece of glass in his hand and the deep cut in his wrist. Under where his arm had been, his tunic was stained a deep red.

"You idiot," she said, at once grasping his wrist to stench the blood flow and pulling his arm above his head. "You prize idiot –"

"Yes, I am," he said miserably, turning his face into the wall. "I was an idiot when it came to you. To everyone. You lied to me, they lied to me, John and Simon, they said you would be able to tell me everything I want to know –"

"What do you want to know?" she asked. She pried the glass shard – a remnant of one of the tumblers he had broken – out of his hand and tossed it away.

"My past," he whispered. A tear tricked down his face. "My life. My name."

"Draco Malfoy," she said softly.

There was an infinite pause, where she wondered if he'd even heard her. But then he turned to her, his eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. A thousand emotions flickered over those beautiful eyes, a million, and it was like watching someone learn the very deepest secrets of the world and being astonished at the answers.

"Draco Malfoy," he whispered. "You knew it all this time and said nothing?"

"Draco, I'm sorry, I was wrong to –"

Harry and Ron chose that moment to enter, bearing the supplies she had asked for. "Oh shite," Ron exclaimed, seeing the blood. "How –"

"—did you miss the fact that he slit his wrist? I was wondering that myself," Ginny shot back. "Give me the dittany. Soak the bandages in the murtlap essence, then wrap them round his wrist with the dittany pressed against the cut."

They followed her curt instructions to the letter. Taking the bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion, she coaxed Draco's lips open and poured it into his mouth. Within minutes, his colour had greatly improved and he was breathing evenly.

"I swear I didn't see all that, Gin," Ron said. "He was sitting in the corner of his parlour, his arms and knees pressed up to his chest, and I just Stunned him the way he was."

"You read his rights, didn't you?" Harry said urgently. "Bloody hell, Ron –"

"It hardly matters, Harry," Ron said, gesturing to Draco. "He thinks his name is Ben Hamilton, that he's a Muggle. Got amnesia like you wouldn't believe, mate."

Harry turned to Draco, frowning. "Is that true?" he asked dryly. "You really think you're a Muggle?"

Ginny was sure she was the only one to see it. The moment Ron had named Harry, Draco had clenched his jaw so tightly a muscle quivered there, and a look of pure, unfiltered rage filled his eyes. He remained silent, and didn't answer the question.

"Fine, then I'll do it," Harry said exasperatedly, and he knelt down so he was eye-level with them. "Draco Scorpius Malfoy, you are hereby arrested for crimes against Wizardkind, including but not limited to the murder of one of your peers. You will be tried before the Wizengamot, the highest court in the land, and allowed to defend yourself by any means said court deems necessary. You have the right to remain silent, for anything you say can be used against you. If you require a solicitor, one can be found for you. For the duration of the trial, your wand will be confiscated and kept from you, and in the event of a life sentence, it will be snapped."

"You have his wand, Harry," Ginny pointed out, annoyed. "Remember?"

"It's part of the speech, I have to say it," he shot back, rolling his eyes. He looked back at Malfoy. "Bet you regret not taking Dumbledore's help when he offered it, don't you, ferret?" he said, grinning.

"I have no idea what I did to deserve such a quaint nickname," Draco drawled, "but surely you have more imagination than that. I didn't kill anyone, nor have I ever even contemplated it or attempted to do so."

"Two eyewitnesses, Malfoy," Harry crowed, jubilant. "_Two_."

"Are you really that childish?" Ginny snapped. "We're wasting valuable time."

"What're you talking about?" Harry said, eyebrows drawn. "The press release –"

"No, you git. The Malfoys. Before anything else happens, Draco is going to Wiltshire to see his mother." Beside her, she felt Draco's entire body tense and shudder.

Harry had started shaking his head before she'd even finished, and he came to his feet. "He's in Ministry custody now," he said, "he's not leaving the holding cells until –"

"Then let me phrase it in a way you'll understand," Ginny said, standing as well. "A satisfied Lucius Malfoy is a generous Lucius Malfoy. If Narcissa gets to see her son, then you can start planning how you'll spend all those Galleons by tomorrow evening."

"She has a point," Ron said slowly.

"It's against Ministry rules," Harry insisted, but already he sounded doubtful.

"And when have the Malfoys ever abided by Ministry rules?" Ginny asked. "Ron and I will escort him. He'll have plenty of protection."

Harry hemmed and hawed a moment more, before throwing his hands up into the air. "Fine," he said. "It's already been reported to the Minister, though, so Malfoy is back in his cell by dawn, all right?"

"By dawn," Ron agreed. "Now get out, the less you know the better." Harry scowled at Draco one last time, then swept out, scarlet Auror robes swishing.

"My mother," Draco said hoarsely. "She's – and my father? I'm…?"

"Going to see them, yes, now get up," Ron said impatiently. "You heard Harry. We've got ten hours until dawn."


	26. Abbreviated Life Story

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Five – Abbreviated Life Story**

Ginny helped Draco unsteadily to his feet and led him back down the corridor, Ron following close behind. Still weak from his brush with death, Draco leaned heavily on Ginny, his bandaged arm round her shoulders and her arm about his waist, but she welcomed his weight.

"What is he wearing, anyway?" Ron asked abruptly, eyeing Draco's tunic, baggy gray trousers, and orange flip-flops with confusion.

"His work clothes," Ginny said, turning her head slightly. "Draco's a sous chef." She hoped, if he heard his real name often enough, he would start to react to it.

Ron shook his head and muttered something about 'those odd Muggles.' "Head up to my office, then," he directed her. "He's not going to the Great Pureblood Stronghold dressed like that."

"You have extra robes for him?"

"When is someone going to actually speak to me rather than near me?" Draco asked testily.

"Right, there'll be a few things you'll need to know," Ron said. He waved his wand over their heads and opened the door out of the holding cells. The two guards on duty looked at them curiously and made as though to stop them, but Ron waved them back to their posts. "He needs to be questioned," he explained to them. The two guards shrugged and let them go.

"Your name is Draco Malfoy," Ron began, once the guards were out of earshot. "I think this goes without saying now, but you're a wizard."

Draco darted a nervous look at Ginny. "Pull the other one," he said hesitantly. "I'm too old to believe in fairy tales."

Ron sighed. "Ginny? A demonstration?"

Ginny pulled out her own wand – Draco's eyebrows lifted when he saw it – and created multicoloured sparks from the tip. "That's what you've been calling telekinesis all this time," she said gently. "You've just been performing magic without a wand."

"He does wandless magic?" Ron said, gaping. "Merlin, that's next to impossible to –"

"Where did you leave off, Ron?" Ginny encouraged him. They reached the lift and piled into it, while Ron hit the proper button to reach the Auror department. "You were off to a good start. Draco, your parents are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They're very rich – they live in a country estate – and they don't like me and Ron very much, but I think they'll excuse us just this once."

Draco paused, watching the floors slowly pass them by. "Lucius and Narcissa. Country estate. Why don't they like you?"

"Because we're Muggle sympathizers," Ron said. "We don't believe in the superiority of wizards over Muggles – non-magic folk. Your parents do."

"Do I have any siblings?"

"No," Ginny said. "You're estranged from your mother's family – you only have an aunt and a cousin, and you don't acknowledge that you're related to them – but your father has numerous cousins and extended family."

"What about my friends?" Draco pressed. His eyes had gained a peculiar urgency that heartened Ginny – he was so eager to soak up the details of his life that he had momentarily forgotten about his suicide attempt, or that he wasn't too fond of her at the moment. "Surely they came to look for me?"

"I don't think you really had what you'd call friends," Ron said slowly, earning a glare from Ginny. "What, Gin? Would you honestly call Crabbe and Goyle his mates? Zabini? Parkinson?"

"Fine, more about that later," Draco said quickly. "Why didn't my parents look for me?"

"They did, everyone in the bloody Wizarding world was looking for you," Ron said. "That was our problem, though – we didn't look for you outside the Wizarding world. You were such an uppity elitist prat that no one considered you'd hide out with Muggles."

"Ron," Ginny warned.

"So – let me understand –" Draco's pale brow furrowed in thought. "I'm a wizard, and you call people like Simon and John Mug—Muggles?"

Ginny closed her eyes. "No, actually. John is a wizard as well, and Simon was born to Wizarding parents but doesn't have magic."

Ron spun on her, his jaw dropped. "_What_?" he spluttered.

"John's magic too?" Draco cried.

"Now's not the time – there's so much –" Ginny huffed in frustration. "We just need to get to Malfoy Manor. That's our priority right now."

"If he was with a wizard," Ron pointed out, "that wizard could be arrested for –"

"No, we're not going into that," Ginny said quickly.

"That's why they weren't surprised when they saw me moving things," Draco said quietly to himself.

"I don't know if the Malfoys will understand that you remember nothing," Ginny said slowly, gazing up at Draco. "And…we might not want to let your mother know."

He looked up from the floor. "Why not?"

"She's dying, mate," Ron said, before Ginny could. "Been ill for a long time, and her number's almost up."

Draco's eyes never left Ginny's, even as he removed his arm from her shoulder and stepped back. "You knew that as well, I suppose?" he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Knew that she didn't have long – even when I _told_ you that I –"

"You were happy as Ben Hamilton," Ginny said defensively. "Happier by far as him than in this life, which has only treated you with cruelty and hate."

"You knew who I was – the entire time. Since – since that day at the park, you saw me and _knew _me, and yet you just played along?" She had never seen him this angry before. Not even when they were children, not with such depthless malice and disgust in his eyes. "You called me Ben, and smiled and nodded when I said my parents were dead, and I didn't know anything about the first years of – when did you learn my mother was dying?"

"Two months ago," Ginny said bitterly.

He let out a choked sound, a half-sob. "And you just sat there and listened to me – when I went on about how much I wished I knew them – that was _my_ choice to make, choosing to know who I really was –"

"I was selfish!" she cried, stepping towards him. His eyes blazed in fury. "I'll admit it freely, I was _selfish_, and I thought only of myself –"

"And then what?" Draco roared. "Once you tired of using me –"

"No." She shook her head forcefully. "I never used you, Draco."

"Why else would you stay with me?"

"You know why I stayed," she whispered.

Draco raised his bandaged wrist to her eye level. "Then you know why I did this," he replied unsteadily.

For a long, interminable moment they only stared at each other, neither one willing to back down. Ginny looked away first. Draco moved to stand at the opposite end of the lift.

Ron raised an eyebrow at him. "You raise your voice to my sister again…well, I've got a wand and you don't, mate, and I'm a lot better at hexes than I used to be." Draco scowled and turned away from both of them.

The lift at last arrived at their floor and the grille clattered open, echoing down the corridors. Ron grabbed Draco by his upper arm and led him out, Ginny on their tail. The Auror department was vacant and still as they made their way to Ron's office; Ron waved his wand to open the door ahead of them and turn the lights on. Draco gaped up at the lamp on the ceiling in amazement.

"Another reason your mother might not like us," Ginny said coldly, as Ron went rooting through his filing cabinet, "is because our mum killed your mum's sister, your aunt Bellatrix. Honestly, the world's better off with her dead. That man in the holding cells with you was her brother-in-law."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "When did this –?"

"Long story short, there was this really nasty piece of work who tried to take over eight years ago," Ron said, his voice muffled. He was now underneath his desk, still searching. "Lots of people died, places destroyed, witches and wizards on the run…it was a mess. There was a last stand at Hogwarts – the Wizarding school, you went there – and Harry destroyed him. A few hours later, or so we've been able to guess, you lost your memory."

Draco looked away, eyes darting back and forth as he ran his hands through his long hair. "Dr Walcott said that fugue states are sometimes brought about by war," he said slowly.

"Good on the good doctor – ah, there it is!" Ron came out from under the desk with a brown paper bag in hand. "Spare robes," he said, pulling out a formal black set. "We're built about the same, so they should fit. Gin, d'you have your Auror uniform somewhere? You're not going dressed like a Muggle either."

"I might have a set at my desk," she said, plucking at the hem of her blouse.

"Fabulous. I'll watch this one." Ginny left them in Ron's office and found the formal uniform in one of her lower drawers. Once she'd pulled the scarlet robes on over her head and headed back to Ron's office, the two wizards were already dressed in their respective clothing. Draco's skin still looked deathly pale against his black robes, but his hair was pulled back again with a hair tie, and he looked significantly better than he had before.

And more like his old self than ever. Ben Hamilton was gone, and only Draco Malfoy remained.

Ron waved his wand at Draco's hands and suddenly his wrists flew together, bound by invisible cords. "Ministry policy, sorry," he said, shrugging. "I'll take it off when you go in to see your mum. Right, we're off to Wiltshire."

"That'll take us two hours, at least," Draco pointed out, discreetly tugging at his cuffs.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, if you go in one of those Muggle car things," he said. "We're Apparating, mate. Snap your fingers, and there you are. Which reminds me –" He turned to Ginny. "I've never been to Malfoy Manor –"

"I have," she said, not looking at Draco. "I can write down the coordinates if you'll Side-Along with him."

She gave Ron the exact position and warned him that it would likely be pitch black when they arrived in the dirt lane leading to the manor, as it was far out in the country. He grabbed Draco by the crook of his elbow. "This is going to feel uncomfortable for a mo," Ron said. "Exhale when I tell you." He glanced over at Ginny. "Merlin, this is weird. Here I am telling Draco sodding Malfoy about obvious things like –"

"I'll see you there," Ginny said. She made a slashing motion with her wand and Ron's brightly lit office vanished from sight.

Once she arrived in the darkness she instantly muttered _Lumos__ maxima,_ and the dirt lane flooded with light. A million stars hung above her head, and the familiar high hedge ran along the lane to her side, leading directly for the dark huddled shape that was Malfoy Manor. Most of its windows were dark, but up on the first floor, a few lamps shone indistinctly.

Ron and Draco appeared a moment later, Draco coughing and gasping for breath. "I warned you, didn't I?" Ron said dryly. He pointed to the manor. "Right, that's it then?"

"I'll do all of the talking," Ginny said. "They've seen me before, and have at least managed to push down their hatred of Weasleys because of the case. You'll –"

"Patrol the outer perimeter of the grounds," Ron finished. "As backup security. You can't let him leave your sight even for a second, Gin. No matter what Lucius says to you, you go where Draco goes or we take him back to the Ministry."

"Right," Ginny said with a nod. Ron released Draco's arm and Ginny took it instead, guiding the two of them up the lane to the imposing iron gates of the manor.

"Ginny Weasley and Ron Weasley," she said in a clear voice. "Here to visit –"

Unlike the last two times she had visited, when the gates had simply allowed her to pass, this time the iron bars twisted into the shape of a giant mouth, grinding and shrieking with every movement. Beside her, Ginny could feel Draco's pulse skyrocket. "None shall enter here," a steely voice grated. "The way is barred to all."

"Even to the true heir of these lands?" Ginny questioned.

"He alone may pass," the gates declared.

"Only with us as his escort or none at all."

The gates were restored to their normal state, and for a moment the silence hung thick in the air. Ginny imagined that somewhere Lucius Malfoy was being informed of his late night guests, a suspicion confirmed when the gates glowed green. They would all three be allowed to enter.

"Just walk right through them," she said quietly to Draco, and they moved forward, passing through the iron bars like passing through smoke. The moonlight was brighter out in the open park that surrounded the manor, and the grass glinted blue-gray like metal. Ginny whispered _Nox_ to her wand and darkened her own light.

"Oh my God," Draco cried. "Oh God – the birds, the white birds –"

And sure enough, Ginny turned and saw the albino peacocks, settled haphazardly about the grass in their slumber. They glowed oddly in the moonlight, seeming almost more unreal than they did when viewed in the full light of the sun.

"The white birds," he said again, his voice and body trembling. "I – Ginny, it was them the entire time. I remembered them – but not my home, or –"

"You're home now," Ginny said.

"I'll meet you back at the gate a half hour before dawn," Ron whispered in her ear, patting her on the back. She nodded and Ron was gone, vanished into the darkness.

They walked up the footpath to the front door, and Ginny reached out to knock. The door opened before she could.

Lucius Malfoy himself stood framed in the doorway.


	27. Perfect Strangers

**Chapter Twenty-Six – Perfect Strangers**

For a long moment no one moved. Not Lucius, standing stock still in the doorway; not Draco, laying eyes on his father for the first time in eight years; not Ginny, feeling distinctly awkward as an outsider in the situation.

"We have until dawn, when Draco needs to return to his cell at the Ministry," she said softly.

Her words sparked motion. Lucius backed away from the doorway, his eyes never leaving Draco's hunched form, and the two of them stepped off the pavement and into the dark foyer. A house elf slipped in behind them and shut the door, but only Ginny noticed it. The tiny thing bowed to her and tiptoed just as quietly away.

Draco's eyes were wide, sweeping up and down the tall form of his father restlessly, as though he sought to memorize every detail of his appearance in the least amount of time possible. His entire body trembled, his eyes full and glittering in the little lamplight available. Discreetly, Ginny pointed her wand at his wrists and muttered _Finite __Incantatem_to release him from Ron's bonds.

"I thought you were dead," he whispered.

Lucius said nothing.

Draco swallowed and spoke again. "I – I tried to picture for years –"

"What are you doing? Stand up straight," Lucius snapped. "Have you forgotten how to hold yourself? Shoulders back, walk proudly. You're a Malfoy, and don't you forget it."

Ginny winced when she felt Draco straighten compulsively. "He has –"

Lucius turned his flat gray eyes on her next. "I believe your services are no longer required, Miss Weasley," he said coldly.

"On the contrary, my part has just begun," she returned. "He will not leave my sight until he is escorted back to the Ministry at dawn tomorrow. My brother Ron is patrolling the grounds as we speak. If I have cause to believe you won't cooperate with me, I can summon him in an instant."

"Then –"

"We have ten hours, and not a single minute more can be wasted," she insisted. "To be brief – Draco has lost his memory. He doesn't remember you or your wife. That's why he was gone for so long."

Lucius spun on Draco at once, looking at him even more intensely than before. "What is your name?" he asked brusquely.

"Ben Ha— I mean, Draco Malloy," Draco replied. "Er – Malfoy."

Lucius' face darkened. "When were you born?"

"I – well –"

"How old were you when you received your first broomstick?"

"Broomstick?" Draco repeated, confused.

"Wait, please!" Ginny said, stepping forward. "Can't you just trust me? He doesn't remember anything before November of 1998. Not the war – not Hogwarts – nothing."

"I remembered the birds," Draco said. "The big white birds in the front garden. I didn't remember my mum –"

"She is 'Mother,' to you," Lucius bit off. "Surely you –"

"And you're my father?" Draco moved towards him, hesitating. "I have your hair – I look just like you. They said Lucius Malfoy was my father and I assume that's you."

It was then that the first flicker of emotion passed over the senior Malfoy's face, faint enough that Ginny at first thought it might merely have been the flickering lamplight. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "Yes, Draco," he said hoarsely. "I am your father."

Draco laughed and buried his face in his freed hands, a laugh tinged with despair and joy all at once. "I've imagined this moment for so long," he said, sniffling. "Meeting you again…" He looked back up at Lucius, tears drying in tracks down his face. "Granted, I thought it would be slightly different – we weren't –"

A bell cut him off, tinkling mournfully through the dark manor. Lucius turned in the direction of the sound at once. "Your mother, Draco," Lucius said calmly. "We will attend on her."

"What does she have?" Draco asked. "Is it cancer?"

Lucius sneered. "A pureblooded witch, with a disgusting Muggle disease? No, she –" He seemed to remember Ginny then, for he glanced at her before turning back to his son. "You will exercise more discretion in the presence of strangers, Draco. Our private, personal business is ours and no one else's."

"Wherever you take him I go as well," Ginny said.

Lucius glared at her in a way that made Ginny feel like a backwards child again. "Must I repeat myself?"

"No, but evidently I need to." She met him stare for stare. "I go where Draco goes, or I summon Ron. It's simple as that."

"Fine," Lucius snapped. "You will stay back where Narcissa cannot see you. You will say nothing and do nothing to interrupt her, is that perfectly clear?"

"I have no desire to get in the middle of things."

"Then we have an understanding," Lucius said, inclining his head.

Draco approached him, still studying his father's face with the utmost care. "Should I tell her?"

"No," Lucius said. Now that they were only a yard apart, instead of staring one another down from opposite ends of the room, Ginny saw what Draco had seen right away: they truly did look alike. Lucius was simply an older Draco, with his fine patrician features, ash blond hair, and regal bearing. "You will pretend that you remember her – and me – I will help you." Here Lucius's voice wavered, before he cleared his throat and regained his unflappable demeanour. "The Healer says she will not live much longer. She may not live out the night."

Draco bowed his head and nodded.

"You will make her last moments as happy as possible," Lucius said. "She has waited eight years to see you."

"So have I," Draco said thickly, tears streaming down his face.

Lucius appeared to Ginny to be at a loss for words, as he stood there and watched Draco cry. She was ready to yell at the older wizard, to smack some sense into him – this was his son, a son he had not seen in nearly a _decade_ – but Lucius acted himself. As Draco wept, Lucius reached out and tentatively touched his shoulder, squeezing it. Draco let out a strangled sob and launched himself into Lucius' arms and then they were clinging to each other, white-knuckled, trying desperately to hang onto their self-control and only just managing. Ginny saw Lucius blink several times, but his eyes stayed miraculously dry as he whispered things to Draco that she could barely hear. "You are home," he murmured to his son. "You are returned to us. You are home."

Ginny looked down at the parquet floor, away from the emotional scene before her. When she heard them moving again, she looked up to see Lucius with his hand on Draco's back, leading him up the stairs to the first floor. She tucked her wand in the sleeve of her scarlet robes and silently followed them up.

They traced the familiar path Ginny had taken on her previous visit – had it only been a week ago that she had been here last? Had Brighton only been a week ago, when they had laughed and kissed in the sunshine? The Manor at night seemed like a house haunted: as they strode down the corridor wall sconces burst to life, lighting their way, only to extinguish themselves once the trio had passed. Shadows danced in every corner, and nothing moved aside from them; nothing felt alive, nothing was warm. Ginny almost thought she could see her breath in frozen clouds before her.

"Does this look familiar to you at all?" Lucius asked him quietly.

Draco, whose eyes had taken in everything as they walked, shook his head. "I feel – I feel like I _should_ remember. But…no, nothing looks familiar."

"It will," Lucius said. Ginny wondered at his optimism; she had taken him for a complete pessimist. "In time, it will come back to you."

Draco chuckled bitterly. "That's what they told me eight years ago."

Lucius scoffed. "Muggle medicine is hardly what you'd call reliable. Of course they couldn't help you, you're a wizard."

"So I've been told," Draco replied.

Narcissa's chamber door was slightly ajar, the inside even darker than the hallway. Draco stopped just in front of it, and scrubbed the dry tears from his face and combed back his hair with his fingers while Lucius stepped inside. Draco followed him. Ginny slipped in after, then shut the door behind her.

The dark purple room felt even more oppressive now with only a single source of light: an ornate lamp, its glass covering frosted with intricate vines and floral patterns, sat on the table directly beside the canopied bed. The heavy purple drapes had been partially closed to keep out the slight draft, and there, supported by mounds of snow white pillows, lay Narcissa Malfoy, more fragile and wraithlike than Ginny had ever seen her. Her eyes were closed, her near-white hair down and flowing over the shoulders of her plain nightgown. Ginny had to stare at her a moment to be sure that she was still alive, for the rise and fall of her chest was barely visible, slow and shallow as it was.

Lucius went to her side, waving back the silent Healer that had been perched in the chair closest to the bed, and took her blue-veined hand in his own. "Cissy love," he murmured. "Look who is here to see you."

Her eyelids fluttered weakly a moment before opening. Ginny watched as she took in Lucius first, then as her gaze tripped over him to Draco, who was crouched beside him.

She breathed one word: "Darling."

Draco bowed his head again, his shoulders shaking. "I'm so sorry, Mother," he said. "I'm sorry I –"

"Oh, you're really here." Narcissa's hands fluttered at her sides, too weak to perform the slightest task, until Draco took them both in his own and kissed them over and over. A smile graced her face, so brilliant that for a second she did not seem ill at all. "I knew you would come, darling. My dear, darling boy."

"If – if I'd known," Draco stuttered. "If someone – had told me –"

"It doesn't matter now," she said. "You are here." She tilted her head to include Lucius in her gaze. "The two most important men in my life – here, with me. We are all together again, just as I'd hoped."

"It's been a long time since last we were together," Lucius said thoughtfully. "Eight years."

"And look at him, Lucius," Narcissa whispered. She released one of her hands from Draco's grip and lightly touched the side of his face, the bridge of his nose, his long hair. Though his back was to her Ginny could hear the sound of his tears, and it was enough to make them come to her eyes as well. "How he's grown up without us. He's not a little boy anymore, is he?"

"Not at all," Lucius agreed.

"So handsome," she said, smiling. "I don't suppose I have any grandchildren yet?"

Draco choked on his laughter. "None I'm aware of, Mother," he said.

"Ah, well. A woman can dream, can't she?" Narcissa said, laughing with him.

Lucius bent closer. "Cissy, don't excite yourself so, the Healer said –"

"Oh, bother the Healer," Narcissa said irritably. "I want to know everything – I feel like we're being introduced for the first time. Eight years, Lucius, and he's grown up so well. We couldn't have raised him better had we been there ourselves."

"I would've wanted you there," Draco said. "I didn't like being all alone."

Narcissa reached up again and pushed back a runaway lock of his hair. "You aren't alone any longer," she said.

"I love you, Mother," he whispered.

Narcissa's eyes glistened in the lamplight. "Darling, you are the light of my life, and the centre of my whole world. I loved you the moment they first put you in my arms, and I have loved you ever since."

Draco said nothing, only bowed his head again, and took her hands in his own trembling ones.

"How do you feel, Cissy?" Lucius asked. "Shall I ask the Healer for more of your potion?"

"I don't need the potion," she said faintly. "Before you entered the room, I saw Andromeda's daughter."

Lucius recoiled in horror. "Cissy –"

"She has forgiven me, Lucius. I saw her and she was smiling at me from just near the window, over there. She's waiting for me."

"I don't want you to go," Draco said.

"But we all must go, darling," she said. "I was waiting to see you – I don't doubt that you are the only reason I have lasted so long. And now you are here, and I have seen you and couldn't be prouder of the man you have become." She ran her hand through Draco's hair again. "You will tell me everything, darling. I want to know you."

Ginny ducked her head and wiped at her tears, blinking them away fiercely. She could not accurately say how many hours she stood in her corner as the Malfoys talked about all but Draco's memory loss, only that the ache in her legs from standing went ignored, and the weight of her eyelids became oppressive before long. She was still averting her eyes as Narcissa closed her own, as Draco begged her not to go, as Lucius pulled Draco away from his mother and to the side of the room after her chest ceased to rise.

"I've only just arrived," Draco pleaded. "I've waited so long –"

"She is gone now, to a far better place," Lucius said flatly.

"I still don't remember," Draco cried, his face red with anger and frustration and grief. "She's a stranger to me. I feel nothing for her. She's my mother! But I remember _nothing_!" He collapsed against the wall, hiding his face in the crook of his arm as he wept.

He'd had all of a few hours to squeeze in twenty-six years with his mother. And that was all Ginny's fault.

Ginny wished she felt nothing as well.


	28. Still Life in Green and Black

**Disclaimer: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Seven – ****Still Life in Green and Black**

The Healer announced that Narcissa had passed away shortly after one in the morning, and she told Lucius that she would handle the necessary procedures and even suggested a coffin maker. Lucius looked so disgusted, so incensed by her words that Ginny reached for her wand, expecting the worst, but the Malfoy patriarch simply bent and kissed Narcissa's smooth brow one last time, murmuring something against her skin. He stood and led Draco out of the room without another word; Ginny followed.

The room beyond Narcissa's bedchamber was a small lounge done in some dark colour Ginny couldn't discern through the gloom, sparsely furnished with one sofa and two chairs. Lucius pointed his wand at the broad marble hearth and lit a roaring fire in the grate. Draco jumped a foot in the air, startled.

His shock caught Lucius' attention. Lucius stared at his son for several seconds that stretched into eternity, motionless and mute. "Even now, you will keep up this charade?" he asked at last. "You mother lies dead in the next room, and –"

"I remember nothing," Draco insisted. His face was pale in the firelight, though he'd scrubbed most of his tears away. "I've never seen this room before, this house. I'm taking you at your word that you're my – my father. Because I've never met you before."

"_Something_ will jar your memory!" Lucius cried, stepping towards him. "You cannot stay like this!"

"Don't you believe me?" Draco said. He spread his arms wide in supplication. "I have nothing to gain by pretending. _I don't remember you_."

"Where is your bedroom?" Lucius asked tightly.

"I don't know."

"Your favourite Quidditch team?"

"I don't even know what Quidditch is –"

Lucius moved faster than Ginny had ever seen before, darting across the room with his hands outstretched; it was only with her faster reflexes that Ginny managed to get between them. "Violence won't solve anything," she cried, inwardly shuddering at the look of rage in Lucius Malfoy's eyes.

"This is impossible," Lucius hissed.

"It's all too real," Ginny said, lifting her chin. "Some people who suffer dissociative fugues never regain their earlier memories at all."

Lucius backed away. "My son – my _pure-blooded_ son – does not have a Muggle disease," he spat.

"Then why doesn't he remember you?" she challenged.

Instead of answering, Lucius roared wordlessly and stalked away. "I cannot deal with you just now," he said coldly, opening another door in the far wall. Beyond it was the main hallway. "I will see our solicitor about your trial and speak to you once I have answers." With that, he strode off, slamming the door shut behind him.

"The – the nerve!" Ginny cried, stomping her foot on the carpet. "How dare he leave you like that? How _dare _he –"

Draco had turned away when Lucius left, and was now staring into the depths of the warm fire. "He has every right to go," he said softly. "His wife just…" Draco sighed. "That really was my mother, wasn't it? This is my childhood home?"

Ginny nodded.

He gazed around the room. "He's absolutely right," he said. "I can't stay like this. I _have _to remember."

Tentatively, Ginny reached out for him, wanting nothing more than to hold him in her arms until everything was all right again – but he shied away from her hand, taking several steps back. "Don't," he said hoarsely, not meeting her eyes. "Please don't."

She withdrew at once, stung by his rejection. "Draco, I'm –"

"What's my mother like?" he asked over her.

What could she say about Narcissa? She had seen the woman but a handful of times in her life, and the only times Narcissa had been civil had been the last two, over the course of the summer. "Narcissa Malfoy…is a real lady," she said slowly. "She can tell you exactly what fork to use for what course, and – and she could plan a party on a moment's notice. She always makes her guests welcome and comfortable. Ideologically we don't see eye-to-eye, but whenever I came here she was the perfect hostess." Ginny looked up at him. "She risked her life to save yours, during the war. More than once."

Draco's eyes ran restlessly over the room, again and again. "I think – I want to see my bedroom."

"Anything you want," she said. She led him out of the same door Lucius had exited through, but paused just outside. "You're about to see something that might…scare you," she warned him.

He snorted mirthlessly. "I don't think my nerves can be stretched any further than they already are," he said.

Sure enough, when Ginny called out and a house elf snapped into being in front of them, Draco's only reaction was to lift his eyebrows. "Master Draco wants to be taken to his room," Ginny said to the tiny thing. "He hasn't been home in so long, he doesn't remember where it is."

"What the hell is that?" he asked.

"Oh, Master Draco is not remembering me?" the little elf squeaked. "I is Carthy, Master Draco, your house elf! It is being many years since you is home!"

"Carthy," Draco said slowly. "Lead the way, then."

Just as before, it felt as though they were the only people in the entire house, for the only sound was their footsteps and Carthy's high voice. Draco's old bedroom was all the way down at the end of another wing of the house, shrouded in shadow and an air of neglect that made the hairs on the back of Ginny's neck stand on end. She shivered and rubbed her arms.

"No one's been here for some time," Draco said, looking at the dark wooden doorframe.

"No, Master Draco," Carthy said, shaking her head so hard her ears flapped against her face. "Mistress is trying to go to your room many times, but she is crying too much to make it all the way. No one is being inside your room since you is leaving for school after Easter holidays."

"Thank you, Carthy," he said.

Carthy's eyes welled up in pure joy. "Master Draco is too kind!" she sobbed, before snapping out of sight.

"What an odd little creature," Draco mused.

"Your family owns several of them," Ginny said. "They're like servants."

Rather than asking her more about them, Draco turned the door handle and let them into the room. Blackness enveloped them at once, and Ginny heard him automatically start fumbling on the wall for a light switch.

"There's no electricity here," she said, and she lit her wand to search for a lamp. The light illuminated only part of the room, revealing a massive four-poster bed with heavy green hangings trimmed in silver fringe; it had been left unmade. A lamp stood on the bedside table. Ginny lit it with the tip of her wand and handed it to Draco.

"How can there be no electricity here?" he asked her, looking at the guttering lamp in his hand. "This is the twenty-first century. I didn't think anyone lived like this anymore."

"Muggle electronics don't work around magic," she said. "We make do without them."

He raised the lamp to further light the room. Beyond the bed was a tall wardrobe, done in the same dark wood as the rest of the furnishings. One door stood open, revealing a half-full rack of plain black robes, Oxford shirts, and dress trousers in limited colours. Draco walked to it and took out one of the shirts, studying it with considerably more care than Ginny thought it warranted.

"Hold this," he said. He gave her the lamp, and Ginny took it, confused. He looked carefully at the shirt, looking at the seams, the back of the neck, even bringing it to his nose and smelling it. "This is it," he said. Draco looked up at her, eyes wide. "This is exactly like the shirt I was wearing when I was found. Hand-stitched – no tags –" He fumbled in the wardrobe until he pulled out a pair of trousers. "Bloody hell, these are my clothes." He held them up to his waist. "I was a skinny thing, wasn't I?"

"Er – I suppose so –" Ginny said, but he was already shoving the clothes back where they were and looking at the desk along the adjacent wall. He pulled out the chair and sat in it, laying his hands flat on the flat surface.

"You've got to be joking," he said, picking up the silver-tipped quill and tray of ink and pounce. "We write with feathers? Bloody –" He cut himself off at once. Ginny moved closer, and saw that Draco was gathering numerous sheets of parchment – she assumed they'd been under the ink tray. They were covered with writing: practiced flourishes, ink blots, scratched out mistakes. Draco ran his fingertips over an over-elaborate signature near the middle of the top sheet: _Draco Scorpius Malfoy_.

"That's my handwriting," he breathed. A faint chuckle escaped his lips. "Palmer used to tease me about that all the time. Said it looked like one of those fancy computer fonts."

Below it was a list of names under the heading _summe__r garden __party_, and Ginny recognised all of the Slytherins in his year and some a year above. Pansy Parkinson's name was written several times, seemingly not connected to anything else. "Old partner?" he asked.

"You hung out with her a lot in school," Ginny said, feeling jealousy thread through her. "I couldn't really say if you dated or not."

He stood abruptly. "What's that?"

Ginny raised the lamp higher and saw that the wall before the desk was covered in Wizarding photographs; the movement in them must have caught his eye. They weren't Spellotaped to the wall, as she would have expected from a teenage boy, but individually framed and hung. "Photos," she explained. "Ours move. Take a look."

He reached up and took down the one that had been in the _Prophet_, of him and several Slytherins at a party the summer before he'd disappeared. Another photo: this one of him and Narcissa, arms round each other, standing in front of the Hogwarts Express; he looked about eleven. Another: he, Crabbe, and Goyle dressed in formal robes, with a Christmas ball behind them. In each of them, the Draco in the photograph just shook his head and gave the real Draco a disgusted glare.

"I was one of those rich, upper class snobs, wasn't I?" he said.

"We never really liked you very much," Ginny admitted. He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "You were spoiled and acted superior to everyone else. You made fun of my family's poverty and called us blood traitors, and did anything you could to sabotage Harry. I hated you."

He glanced again at the photos before looking at her again. "I'm sorry for anything I might have said to you, Ginny," he murmured.

"It's in the past," she said, waving it off, embarrassed. "But does looking at them trigger anything? Anything at all, even a brief flash…?"

He looked again at the Christmas ball photo, eyebrows drawn. For a long time he only stared, tilting it this way and that in the yellow light, and then: "One of these boys…is dead."

Ginny's heart jolted in her ribs. "_Yes_," she breathed. "Merlin, Draco, you remembered something! Which one? What's his name?"

Another long, extended pause. "I don't know," he said at last. "But that's the first thing I've remembered in eight years, so I suppose even that's progress."

"It's wonderful," Ginny said sincerely, and when he raised his head his eyes locked onto hers. Everything else sank away into the darkness, and there was only the two of them together. Again the desire rose in her to take him into her arms and just hold him, hold him until he stopped weeping and could emerge into the world with his head held high again. _Forgive me_, she silently pleaded, reaching up to touch the side of his face. He was rough, unshaven, but she hardly cared. _Forgive me, and I'll willingly spend the rest of my life making this up to you._

A ragged breath escaped his lips, and he turned away from her hand.

He busied himself with re-hanging the photographs he'd taken down, while Ginny retreated to the last wall yet unexplored: the wall of bookshelves. Not a single bare space was left, for the shelves extended floor to ceiling, wall to wall, packed to bursting with books of all shapes and sizes. "I suppose this is what you're stuck with, not having a telly and a Playstation," he said, coming up behind her. "It's interesting, though. I don't enjoy reading very much, so I can't imagine how I ever built such a collection of books."

"Maybe they're all boring," Ginny said, moving forward to read the titles. There were several in old English, some in French and Italian, several more potion books, textbooks from Hogwarts, no novels. Not even a single dirty magazine, like the ones she'd been unfortunate enough to find in Bill and Charlie's old bedroom at the Burrow. Nothing indicated that a teenage boy had slept here once.

"Kinky would say this was a lonely room," Draco said, looking all around. Nothing else hung on the walls besides the photographs, and there was no other furniture despite the fact there was plenty of room for more. "There's just the basics here. I was very lonely in this room."

"Look – what Ron said about you not having any friends –"

"No, I'm sure he was telling the truth," Draco said. He went to the side of the unmade bed, where the pillow was still indented with the shape of his head. Almost tenderly, he picked up the spread and made it up, smoothing down the sides.

He turned to her when he was done, giving the room one final survey. "I don't want to stay here any longer," he said. "Take me back to the Ministry."


	29. At Empty Tables

**Chapter Twenty-Eight – At Empty Tables**

Sunday was mercifully quiet after the tumult of the previous two days. To take her mind off things Ginny wrote a letter to Luna, who was with her husband hunting for heliopaths in Bavaria; cleaned up a few things round the flat; made a to-do list for the week; and then curled up on the couch to watch a BBC movie. Her life was back to the way it had been two months ago: quiet, predictable, ordered, the way she'd once liked it. If she was sometimes able to imagine what Draco would think of this actor or that, then that was only a minor distraction.

But she awoke Monday morning to banging on her front door.

Her heart rose when she heard it. Could it be John and Simon, coming to see how Draco was doing? Hurriedly, Ginny threw a dressing gown on over her pyjamas and raced to the door, eager to see them again, to ask for their help in regaining Draco's trust, to tell them about Narcissa –

"Miss Weasley! Is it true that Draco Malfoy was taken into Ministry custody late last night?"

She slammed her front door shut again almost immediately, her heart racing. Outside, mindless of the number of Secrecy Statutes they were breaking, was the whole of the Wizarding press corps – she had caught glimpses of WWN badges, the _Prophet_'s people, someone with an air of distraction who could only be from the _Quibbler_, and other press logos she hadn't recognised.

_Bloody _hell. Someone had leaked everything to the news.

"Is Mr Malfoy denying all charges?" Their voices came through the door slightly muffled. "When will the trial begin?"

"Has a date been set yet?"

"Where has he been since Tom Riddle fell?"

Ginny leaned against the door and huffed in frustration. If it wasn't enough of a bother navigating criminal procedure and Ministry protocol, the press always had to nose in and be nuisances for no good reason. She supposed she could Apparate directly to work and thereby avoid the reporters altogether, but they already had a photo of her in her pyjamas. She sighed. _Dealing with the press should be a course in Auror training_, she thought grumpily.

She returned to her room to dress and pull her hair into some form of neatness, before going back into the melee. The moment she opened the door again, the camera flashbulbs began anew. "I'm going to say one thing and nothing else," she declared, straightening to her full height. "I won't answer questions, and I won't say anything more on the subject."

The reporters waited, quills poised to capture her every word.

"You should all know by now that I am not allowed to make any statements concerning my work without the approval of a superior," she said. "If you're looking for information on Draco Malfoy's case, then you need to go to the Head of Aurors or to the Ministry's Public Relations liaison. That's all." With that, she shut and locked the door behind her, to a chorus of disappointed moans and complaints. Ginny grinned in perverse enjoyment. Anything she could do to delay the publication of Rita Skeeter's stories was all right by her.

The Auror department was in a state of celebration when she arrived a half-hour later, and she had her arm nearly shaken off by Aurors wishing her congratulations.

"Draco Malfoy, Ginny!" Terry Boot cried, gripping her hand with both of his as he shook it. "Merlin, that's the case of the decade!"

"You're definitely one of the better Aurors on the squad," Angelina said. "I never doubted you'd be able to catch the bastard."

"It was all her," Ron told them, putting off the kudos given to him. "I just stepped in at the end, she did everything important to the investigation."

The world seemed to move about her like a Muggle film, and Ginny felt detached from the things happening around her. Harry made another speech about how proud he was of his department, now that they had nabbed the very last of the Death Eaters and Tom Riddle supporters, and announced that this was the start of a new Auror department, one with even higher efficiency and better case turnover.

His speech was greeted with excited cheers and applause. Ginny couldn't even muster a smile.

What did all this revelry ultimately mean in the end? Were these people actually _happy _at the idea that a wizard was possibly going to be sentenced to a term in Azkaban? Some years ago, when new evidence had turned up in one of Ginny's closed cases, she had been made to go to the island prison to retrieve the suspect and bring him back for retrial. Even though the Dementors were now long gone, someone in the Department of Mysteries had determined how to reproduce the feelings of dread and futility they had created. Those feelings were reproduced now through wards and charm work by the wizard guards, who protected themselves from them with Patronuses and her brother George's Shield Cloaks. There was no hope for prisoners at Azkaban. No past, no future, only a present filled with screaming and despair. Many went insane after little more than a year within its walls, and if they didn't they were never quite the same again.

Her suspect, who had been jailed for hunting Muggles for sport, had been in Azkaban ten months when she went to fetch him. He had been delirious, raving mad, psychopathic. The retrial had been indefinitely postponed and the prisoner returned to his cell to rot.

She didn't care about the press. Not about the celebratory party at the Leaky Cauldron Harry was now talking about, not about a pay raise, not about the respect and admiration of her co-workers, not anything. Draco was several stories below her, cold and alone in a holding cell – nothing mattered more than seeing him exonerated and a free man. Nothing.

Harry approached her later, once the furore had died down and most of the department had gotten back to work. "Did you get a confession from him yet?" he asked.

Ginny blinked. "Harry, he –"

"Do it soon," he said, already moving away. "I'll need to submit it to the Wizengamot by Wednesday. Pretrial date is set for the end of next week."

"Will it be public?" she asked.

Harry laughed. "Of course," he replied. "Biggest trial of the year? No way does anyone want to miss that. Remember my confession, Gin, have it on my desk as soon as possible." He strolled off, leaving her gaping at his retreating back.

Knowing it was useless to try and get any kind of "confession" out of Draco, Ginny all the same took a parchment scroll and her favourite quail feather quill pen down to the holding cells. Any opportunity she had to see Draco alone she'd seize with both hands, and the closer they came to his trial date, the less often those opportunities would turn up. The guards down by the courtrooms let her pass easily, and Lestrange and Yaxley were both quiet in their cells.

He was, oddly, seated on the floor in the centre of his own cell when she opened the door, his legs folded with his bare feet atop his thighs, both hands outstretched with palms up. His eyes were closed, his breath steady and even. The black robes Ron had loaned him the previous night were balled up on his bed, along with the bloodstained chef's tunic; the flip-flops lay on the floor nearby. Draco was now dressed only in his gray trousers and a faded yellow T-shirt, which she'd assumed he had worn under the tunic: the grainy pink-and-black design on it said something like "Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols." Strange Muggles. She wondered what a sex pistol was.

Ginny stopped, staring at him. "Er – Draco?"

A few moments later, he blinked opened his eyes. "To what do I owe this dubious honour?" he asked, a sneer curling his lip.

"I – I came down to see how you were?" Her nervous voice made her sentence rise at the end, making the statement a question.

Draco chuckled mirthlessly. "The boy in that picture was killed by the same fire that gave me my scar," he said, touching the Fiendfyre burn on his upper left arm. "The reason I remembered the peacocks and nothing else is because I used to go out and talk to them and feed them, and they were far more interesting than anything else that obviously wasn't worth remembering, thus the rest of my childhood is still an impenetrable black abyss. And how are you?"

She forced herself to smile, though his attitude had set her on edge. "Well, that – that's good that you remembered something, Draco," she said. "How did you—?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but Dr Walcott taught me how to meditate as a form of stress management," he said, unfurling himself. He stretched and stood. "So I've finally got everything straightened out in my head. Thanks for that, by the way," he added, his sneer strengthening. "Dumping me, arresting me, introducing me to my dying mother and a father who's an arse – what a weekend."

"Would you rather someone else had arrested you?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow. "Then you could have skipped our field trip last night altogether, and they could have told you about your mother's death through the bars of your cell. Or shouted it down the corridor."

"How much of what you told me was complete lies?" he demanded, his eyes flashing in anger. "I'm sure you must be used to lying in your work – as I said, I've got you sussed now, Ginny Beesley. _If_ that's your real name, I doubt it is. You're a copper, and I was your case, wasn't I?"

"You've been accused of murder, harassment, and evasion," she confirmed. "But I don't think –"

"So you found me, and decided to do a spot of undercover work, am I right?" When she didn't answer right away, he advanced on her until she had backed into the wall, heart pounding. "I asked you a fucking question," he hissed.

"I chose to learn as much about the case as I could before I turned you in, yes," she said, boldly as she could without her voice quavering. "And my name really is Ginny. Ginny Weasley."

"Ah." He backed off, his face twisted in disgust. "Yes, that's convenient, just changing your family name. If leading me on as you did didn't make you feel guilty, reckon my moaning out another woman's name during sex would _surely_ do it." He laughed pejoratively.

A ripple of fear and shame shot down the length of her spine, but from somewhere, Ginny found the courage to stand her ground. "I never intended things to go as far as they did," she insisted. "I know that I have hurt you – perhaps permanently, I don't know –"

"Your apologies aren't going to make me feel like less of a fool," he cried.

"I didn't use you, Draco! Not everything I told you was lies!"

He was breathing hard now, moving restlessly about the small, windowless room. "You're a scheming bint," he spat, "a deceptive, lying, two-faced, conniving _slag_ –"

"Yell at me all you want, I deserve it," she screamed, moving towards him. "Call me names!"

"It's too good for you! You should be made to hurt as much as I have done!"

"Strike me then, I'll turn the other cheek. Do it, Draco! Do whatever you want to me, I've wronged you badly and I know that –"

Without warning, moving faster than she'd thought possible, Draco suddenly rounded on her and slammed her against the cell wall, his lips crashing onto hers. It was nothing like their previous kisses, all teeth biting and nails scratching, as though he sought to punish her. He pulled at her lower back, so that their hips ground together painfully, and he yanked on her long hair to tilt her head the right way. Ginny knew all she had to do was hex him, call out to the guards for help in restraining him – but _God_, not with her blood boiling the way it was. Draco hadn't voluntarily touched her in days, and the lack had driven her mad with want. He rolled his hips against hers again, and a whimper escaped the back of her throat as desire rocketed through her.

The sound was enough. At once, he released her from his grasp and was on the other side of the room, panting for breath. Ginny slid against the stone wall, reeling, breathing just as hard. Her body sang from the contact, demanding more.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, not looking at her. He extended one hand to the wall to support himself, his back facing her. "I know you're with Harry now. It won't happen again."

Ginny's heart lurched violently. "Draco –"

"Please leave me alone," he whispered.

There was nothing left to say. Near tears, Ginny gathered her fallen scroll and quill and slipped out of the cell. She didn't look back.


	30. Cold Shoulder

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Nine –**** Cold Shoulder**

Shaky disbelief morphed into confusion, which led into frustration – and by Friday, Ginny was furious with Draco. He had absolutely no power in this situation, and yet still he would bite the only hand willing to feed him? Of course he had every right to grieve for the mother he had lost, Ginny knew exactly how devastating it was to lose a close family member, but this was really pushing it. At first, she found an outlet in breaking several things in her flat when she went home each night, trying to expel her raging anger. The only way to really let it out, though – well. She had an idea of how to do that.

It began on Tuesday, when Harry approached her for a confession. "I already told you that Draco has amnesia," she said, rolling her eyes. "Besides that, he won't talk to me. I think maybe you should try."

"You don't really believe that amnesia bollocks?" Harry asked darkly. "Really, Ginny –"

"Do you listen to the words coming out of my mouth? I mean actually listen?" she snapped. "He remembers shite, Harry. He won't confess to anything, because there's nothing _to _confess." She gathered together a stack of folders to re-file. "In all seriousness, though, someone else needs to discuss the case with him. He's being a git and I've had it with him."

"Fine," Harry huffed. "I'll send Ron down. We also received an owl from Lucius Malfoy, their solicitor is stopping by later this week to speak with Malfoy."

Ron returned from Draco's cell indignant, later that same afternoon. "What the bloody fuck?" Ron cried. "I never thought I'd say this, but I want nice Malfoy back!"

Ginny stifled a snort. "What'd he do?"

"Brushed me off, is what he did," Ron grumbled. "Said he wasn't going to talk to anyone except you, Ginny. Insisted on it. I told him you wouldn't see him, and he got all shirty and nasty with me and started screaming. Hell, my ears are still ringing. I think he put a Sonorous Charm on his voice, he was really going at it." He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around a bit. "Reckon you better see him, Gin. He's completely unreasonable right now."

"But I have so much paperwork," she said, a whinging note in her voice. "The courtroom needs to be reserved, and the media people chosen to attend –"

"Oh buggering hell," Ron groaned.

It went on for days: someone would go down to talk to Draco, intending to outline the case for him and make him aware of what he was charged with, and they would return complaining that he just wouldn't listen. Ginny begged out of going herself, claiming she had mountains of paperwork to complete – she actually had very little – and other work to do on the case – it was pretty much done by now, save the trial itself. Each time someone came back from his cell empty handed, Ginny made another mark on the scorecard. If Draco was going to be difficult with her, he'd get to see just how difficult life would be without her on his side. She would bide her time.

Even Lucius Malfoy's solicitor had no luck. The wizard arrived late Wednesday, dressed in showy dress robes and carrying a briefcase, and introduced himself as Giles Montgomery. With the unctuous tone in his voice, the gel in his hair, the arrogant tilt of his chin – Ginny made a wager with Angelina that he would last five minutes in Draco's cell.

They both lost the bet. The Honourable Giles Montgomery was flying out of the holding cells after less than three.

Things came to a head on Friday, when the last willing person went down to try to talk with Draco. "You'd think we were all underage witches and wizards, trying to ride a broom for the first time!" Harry cried irritably, at their weekly staff meeting. "He's unarmed! He can't do anything to any of you – hell, you all bring your wands in with you, right? Use them!"

"Nowhere in the Ministry laws does it say that we can force a suspect to listen to us," Terry Boot pointed out, annoyed. "It's entirely their choice."

"Fine," Harry spat. "_I'll_ talk to him, and I'll manage to get something out of him. Honestly, it's just Malfoy. How much damage could that git do anyway?"

"Famous last words," O'Connell said under his breath. O'Connell had tried seeing Draco Thursday, and literally had the scars to prove it. Beside him, Ginny couldn't keep from snickering in amusement.

In the midst of all the ruckus surrounding Draco's unwillingness to listen to anyone that wasn't Ginny, she had at last been in touch with John and Simon. She wrote to them everything that had happened since they left her flat late Saturday, and asked if they could possibly bring some changes of clothes for Draco, since he was likely still in his clothes from the previous Friday. John had replied back right away, saying that he would come by with some things for him. There was such comfort in simply reading John's steady, even handwriting that it was almost like having him nearby, exuding his usual serene aura.

During her lunch break, Ginny ran down to the main entrance of the Ministry and went up in the red Muggle phone box to the street level. At the end of the lonely alley where it came up stood John, leaning casually against one of the red brick walls. She actually let out a squeal of excitement, attracting his attention, and then she had flung herself into his open arms as he twirled her around.

"Ginny love," he said, beaming at her. "Bloody hell, is it good to see you."

"God, John, I could have used you this week," she said wistfully, taking him by the hand and dragging him down the street until they arrived at a Caffe Nero, Ginny's favourite place for coffee. "Everything's been absolutely mad around here."

"Kinky sends his love," John said, as they took seats at a table in the corner; Ginny quickly cast a discreet _Muffliato_ to make their conversation completely private. "He wanted to come as well, but he's on deadline and had to go into work."

"Tell him I said hello," Ginny said. "I assume you brought…?"

"Clothes? Yes, I dug through Ben's – shite, _Draco's_, I'll get used to it eventually – I went through his drawers and his closet and packed a few things." John reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature, obviously shrunken suitcase; Ginny accepted it and slid it into her own side pocket. "It's not much, but it'll last him awhile." He paused, and looked up at her warily. "How is he? Be honest, now."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He's a pain in the arse, that's what he is," she ground out. "He refuses to listen to anyone, and just bites everyone's heads off. His stance now is to refuse to talk to anyone except me, but I won't see him. After what happened Monday –" She cut herself off.

"What happened Monday?" John prompted.

And she told him everything she hadn't mentioned in the letter: about Narcissa dying before Draco's eyes, and Lucius' rejection of his memory loss. About their heated, ill-advised kiss. Once she was done, Ginny cradled her head in her hands, staring down at the table top. "I'm trying, John," she said. "It's bloody hard to help someone when they look at you like you're the scum of the earth, though."

"You need to stay strong," John said firmly. "You're all he's got."

"I know I do. I really know that, but…" She heaved a sigh and laughed derisively at herself. "I've never had to fight before. Never had to defend what I believe in. Not really, anyway. During the war – with Tom Riddle and everything – I mean, I was sixteen at the time, but I thought I was ready. But no one even let me have a chance! I was Ickle Baby Ginny, too young to take care of herself, too young to fight alongside everyone else," she said bitterly. "They hid me up in a room, you know," she told John. "Yeah. While Harry was off saving the Wizarding world with my brother and Hermione, I was up in a hidden room by myself, forbidden to join in." She folded her arms and looked away.

"Then this is your chance, isn't it?" John said. "To prove to yourself – and to Draco – that you're capable of something like this." He reached back into his pocket and dropped something unceremoniously into Ginny's hand. "Give him this," John said, and she looked down to see another shrunken object – this one was a scrapbook with a European map on the cover. "He'll know it's from us. We gave it to him before he left on his trip to Italy and France, along with the rest of our mates."

"Perfect," Ginny said. "John, you thoughtful thing."

John chuckled and was about to reply, when a booming voice suddenly rumbled from somewhere below them. The café patrons all stopped in mid-sentence and frowned at each other, and when Ginny turned to look out into the street she saw pedestrians looking all around for the source of the sound. There was only one thing it could be.

"I believe that's my cue to leave," John remarked lightly.

"I need to handle that," Ginny said, shoving the scrapbook in with the shrunken suitcase. "I can't thank you enough for coming, John –"

"Take care of him for us, Gin," he said. They stood and he embraced her again. While she was still in his arms, he added, "And don't forget that he loves you. No matter what he says or does, I know he loves you."

Ginny looked up at him, smiling sadly. "Thank you," she breathed. "Give Simon my love. I've missed you both so much this past week."

"Before you know it, we'll be back to the way we were," John assured her, as she led him back out into the street. "You'll see. Kinky's the Seer, but I know things will work out."

"I hope you're right," Ginny said, before bidding him goodbye again. She dashed off at once, headed for the employee entrance of the Ministry. Merlin only knew what could have gone on down there in the holding cells, with Harry and Draco crammed into the same small room together. A regular recipe for disaster, that one.

When she reached the lowest level, Harry was hurtling unsteadily up the stairs as she came down them, clutching at his ears. Blood trickled from between his fingers and down the sides of his neck, and Ginny caught a whiff of some foul smell coming off of him. "The bastard blew out my ear drums!" Harry shrieked when he saw her, his eyes watering behind his glasses. "He's gone completely round the twist!"

Ginny's heart sank. All right. Her game was over now. As much as she secretly liked seeing Harry taken down a necessary peg or two, she drew the line at serious injury. "Go up to the Infirmary," she said. "I'll deal with him."

"What?" Harry shouted. "I'm stone deaf, everything's ringing right now. Did you know he could do wandless magic?"

"Yes," she said, nodding.

"Well thanks for the warning," Harry screamed angrily. "I've got him under an Anti-Magic Ward now, and there's a guard watching the door. The little shit won't get away with anything, not anymore."

Her ire rose immediately. "You're a spiteful monster, a sorry excuse for a man," Ginny hissed.

"What?" Harry cried. "I need to go to the Infirmary."

She nodded her head and made a jerking motion with her hand. Harry groaned and continued up the stairs as Ginny went the opposite direction, towards the holding cells. "And you're rotten in bed," she added under her breath.

"You're sure you want to go in there?" the guard outside said when she arrived, wincing slightly.

"I'm the one he wants to see," she said, flashing her Ministry identification again in annoyance. Reluctantly, the guard bid her entrance, and Ginny shot down the hallway, fuming.

Draco was standing at the door of his cell when she approached, his arms draped through the gaps in the bars. Another guard-witch stood nearby, her wand at the ready; Ginny waved her back. "Do you think this is funny?" she asked him, arching an eyebrow and folding her arms in front of her. "Do you see me laughing?"

"My request was a simple one," Draco drawled. "I refuse to talk to any of those idiots who came down here – least of all that so-called solicitor, who already seemed certain of my guilt. I'll only speak with you."

"I thought you made it pretty clear where I stand with you earlier this week," she said coldly.

He glared at her. "If it's a choice between the lesser of two evils, then I choose you."

"I'm so flattered."

"You should be," he said, faking cheerfulness. "You saw what happened to your darling Harry. How did that make you feel, by the way, seeing him hurt? Are you very angry with me? Are you going to –"

And she did – shouting out the incantation, Ginny whipped out her wand and sent Draco flying back against the far wall of his cell. He groaned at the impact, but managed to keep to his feet. "I was prepared to do something nice for you, but you had to go and be an utter _arse__hole_," she snapped, painfully aware that she couldn't speak freely in front of the guard-witch. "I just came back from talking to John –"

Instantly, Draco was by the door again. "John?" he said. "John Palmer?"

"He gave me some things of yours," she said over him. "I was going to give them to you –"

"Ginny, please, if –"

She laughed. "Too little too late, I'm afraid," she said. "Points for trying, though. No, I'll let you think about it over the weekend, so that on Monday you can let me know if you're going to start taking this trial seriously or not."

"I will, I swear –"

"And there's one other thing to think about this weekend, whilst I'm gone." She looked pointedly at the guard-witch before turning back to him. "I told you a lot of lies during my investigation," she said, in a more even tone. "I know that and I won't deny it. What astounds me, though, is that the one you believe the most is the biggest lie of them all."

Draco froze, his breath audibly catching in his throat. Ginny forced herself to maintain eye contact, but it was so hard to see that spark of hope in him and not be able to confirm those hopes. He had to know what she was really saying. Wasn't he the one who had said it was all in the actions, not in the words?

He swallowed and rested his hand on the bars again. "Ginny –"

"I'll see you on Monday," she said, before turning on her heel and retreating down the corridor.


	31. Desire and Futility

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirty – Desire and Futility**

To take her mind off of their potential reconciliation, as Saturday and Sunday passed with all the speed of drying paint, Ginny went to the Agrippa von Nettesheim Library in Diagon Alley to research the ward Harry mentioned had been placed on Draco. What she found, instead of cheering her, only crushed her hopes: Anti-Magic Wards, when cast on people, created incredibly powerful pockets of space where magic could not enter or be performed. It would effectively keep Draco from doing any wandless magic.

It would also keep Ginny from being able to touch him or get anywhere close to him.

She received another nasty shock when she arrived at the Ministry Monday morning. Harry called her into his office soon after she arrived, and Ginny took a seat across from him, trying not to stare at the wrappings and dressings on his ears. She wondered if his hearing was back to normal yet.

"You'll have to talk loudly," Harry said, half-shouting, answering her unspoken question. "I can only hear a bit."

"All right," Ginny said, not bothering to raise her voice.

"The Malfoys' solicitor thinks that the pretrial date should be moved forward, since there's the question of Malfoy's memory loss," Harry said. "And Montgomery's absolutely right – if Malfoy's going to need to be treated by St Mungo's, they should be given as much time as possible to do whatever it is they do to cure amnesia. If it's curable."

Ginny blinked. _If? _"But I thought Ron said Hermione did research," she said slowly. "I thought all amnesia was curable."

"What?" Harry said, tilting his head towards her.

"Never mind," she said. Shouting, she asked, "When will the pretrial be, if not Friday?"

"Tomorrow," Harry replied. "Montgomery insisted. This way they can set up an official inquiry into Malfoy's mental state sooner."

Ginny gaped at him. _Tomorrow_?As in twenty-four hours from now? Merlin help her – there was so much to do in so little time – Draco had to be told about what was going to happen – what he'd have to do –what was she doing just sitting here?

Excusing herself, Ginny raced to her workspace to deposit her bag by her chair, then stopped by Ron's office and stuck her head in the door. "Did Harry tell you about the pretrial being moved up?" she asked him.

"Just now, yeah," he said, taking his feet off his desk. "It's at noon in Courtroom Seven. I thought I'd leave you to –?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way," she said, and with a farewell smile she darted off again, heading down the corridor to the lift. She almost felt like Persephone these days, making her periodic journey down to the underworld. Maintenance did not have any windows in the holding cells, and the air was stale down there, so far underground. It really was like the land of the dead, and knowing Draco's love of playing rugby, she knew he had to be suffering from the lack of sunlight.

A different guard-witch was standing watch on Draco's cell when she arrived, and it was none other than Lynn Hargreaves, the Hit Witch Ginny had hired to help her take Draco down weeks earlier. Lynn smiled cheerfully and waved at her as she approached. "I see you were able to secure the target without my assistance!" she said.

"Yes," Ginny replied politely. "I'm sorry for bollocksing up that day. I know you were eager to help me."

"Oh, that's all right," Lynn said, chuckling. "I'm just happy another criminal is off the streets, no matter who caught him."

"Exactly," Ginny said, forcing a grin. "Now, I have to speak to Dra—the target. About the case. Since some things have changed, you know."

"Very well," Lynn said happily. "Go right in, and I'll be here in case you need me. And mind the ward while you're in there, Mr Potter didn't tell me its diameter. "

Ginny tapped the cell door with her wand, thankful that the Anti-Magic Ward seemed not to fill the entire room, and entered the dim cell. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt as though it wanted to leap right out of her chest, but she took deep breaths, slow and even, and wiped her sweaty palms on her Auror robes. And there was Draco, laying on his back on the camp bed, his pale eyes glowing in the sparse light from the sconces in the corridor. He was looking at her.

To busy herself, Ginny shut the door behind her and conjured a lamp to hang on the wall, casting even more light into the room. She heard him moving behind her, the old bed groaning from his shifting weight, but even so she jumped slightly when she turned and saw him standing about six feet away.

His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. "Ginny –"

"Wait." She pointed her wand at Lynn and muttered _Muffliato_ under her breath. "We can't speak plainly," Ginny said to him, tucking the wand away. "There are eyes and ears all over the Ministry, and I wouldn't be surprised if we were being watched at all times – especially after last week."

"Then – but if we've already cast suspicion on ourselves –"

"Please," she said, and he held his tongue. Draco stepped towards her, but Ginny held up her hand. "You have a spell on you that keeps magic away. It keeps me away as well."

"Can't you undo it?"

"Harry's likely got a Tracking Spell on it," she said, "meaning if someone were to lift it, alarms would go off. I can't."

"I want to see how far it extends," he decided. He stepped forward slightly, one foot in front of the other, getting closer and closer to her with each step. She could see how haggard and pale he looked now, how stringy his hair was and how dark the shadows under his eyes. He needed fresh air, and sunshine –

When he was about two feet from her, Ginny felt something pushing her. "There it is," she said. "You can't get any closer, or I'll be shoved against the wall."

He looked up and met her eyes. "Better than nothing, I suppose," he said softly.

"Much," she agreed.

An awkward pause hung in the air, extending seemingly for hours until he spoke. "What happened to Harry?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

Ginny winced. "You punctured his ear drums. He's recovering, but he's still mostly deaf."

"Bloody hell," he groaned. "I didn't even know I could – _shite_."

"Why were you such an arse last week?" she asked, frowning at him.

He rocked back and forth on his feet. "I told you that I have a difficult time trusting people, yeah?"

She nodded. "Go on."

"It's because of the memory loss," he said. "I realised early on that just anyone could walk up to me and tell me that I was this and that, and I would have no way of countering them. But what if someone wanted to pull a cruel joke? Make me believe something about myself that wasn't true? So I learned to not believe a word people said until I could prove it for myself. I – you're the only person I know here." He glanced down at his interlaced fingers before looking up at her once more. "I've thought long and hard about what you said. I'll go along with whatever you say, as long as I don't have to deal with those other people who came here."

"All right," Ginny agreed, tracing the curves of his face with her eyes. She gazed at him hungrily, hating every inch of space between them. Damn Harry and his ward. _Damn_ him.

"Tuppence for your thoughts," Draco murmured.

Ginny smiled, and her heart leapt into her throat. "Are they worth that much now?"

He grinned back. "You know how it is. Strength of the British pound versus the American dollar, and all that rot."

"Oh! I nearly forgot." Ginny reached into the pockets of her robes and pulled out the things John had given her. "Stand back a bit, I need to resize these."

He dutifully moved away, and Ginny set the suitcase and scrapbook on the stone floor between them. Muttering the proper spell under her breath, Ginny watched Draco's eyes widen as the two objects inflated. "These have all been checked over," she said, "so it's not all quite as neat as John packed it. Mostly they looked for wands, anything magical that could help you overpower a guard or –" She stopped and he looked up. "And I checked for sharp objects," she added, barely above a whisper.

"Thank you," he said, kneeling down to open the boxy black suitcase on the floor. Now that it was normal-sized again, Ginny could see the stickers decorating it from Florence, Paris, London, even ones that said Casablanca, Moscow, and Cape Town. "Good old Palmer," he said, smiling happily as he pulled out fresh shirts and trousers, "he thinks of everything, doesn't he?"

"I asked him to send you new clothes," she said. "I thought – I mean, those clothes you've got on can't be that fresh."

Draco sniffed under his arm and grimaced. "Not exactly," he agreed. "I get a bucket of water with my breakfast to wash, but that's it." He picked out a pair of jeans, an undershirt, and a grey Oxford shirt and tossed them onto his bed. Then, without further ado, he started to undress.

Ginny stepped back, thinking that she should give him his privacy – but then he looked up at her boldly as his shirt went over his head. The room temperature immediately rose several degrees. Her eyes went along the paths they had traced before, continuing down the length of his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his thighs, as he untied his trousers and they dropped to the floor. She was an idiot – a complete idiot. This man made her feel like no one else had ever made her feel, and she had nearly thrown that all away.

"You never answered my question," he said, as he kicked aside his trousers.

Ginny swallowed, weak at the mere sight of him. "What? Oh – you asked – my thoughts?"

"Your thoughts." He bent and started tugging on the jeans.

"I – well," she laughed breathily, "I haven't many coherent ones just now."

Draco pulled the undershirt on over his shoulders, followed by the Oxford. A smile tugged at his lips. "Come on then," he said. "This is embarrassing. I can't believe you don't see me blushing over here."

"You've nothing – _nothing_ to be embarrassed about," Ginny said dryly.

He ducked his head, grinning, as he started doing up the buttons. "Palmer's the one that works out," he said. "He goes to the gym and everything. I'm afraid I eat a bit too much of my own cooking."

"Just – God, if you don't finish getting dressed soon I'm going to do something I'll regret."

His eyebrow quirked upwards, and his hand paused on the open fly of his jeans. "Like what?"

Ginny wet her lips and was gratified to see his eyes darken considerably. "I really hate Harry right about now," he remarked as he did up his trousers.

She laughed. _Draco_, _you have no idea_.

They ended up sitting on opposite ends of his bed – Draco at the head, Ginny at the foot – each with one arm extended outward and lying on the thin blanket, as though they could pretend they were holding hands. "I came to tell you that the pretrial is tomorrow," she said in a low voice. "All they'll do is list everything you're charged with and ask you to declare for the record whether you're innocent or guilty."

"But I don't know if I did those things," Draco said. "What's the use?"

"Well, that's where the procedure will vary for you," she said. "Tell them you don't remember, explain everything Dr Walcott told you about dissociative fugues, and the Wizengamot will make an inquiry. You'll be taken to hospital and treated to have your memories returned."

He froze. "You mean – I could remember things again?"

Ginny nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

Draco stared down at his outstretched hand. "Do I want to remember?"

"What are you saying? Of course you do, it would mean –"

"It'd change my perception of everything."

"Nothing else is as important as clearing you of all charges," she said. "That's the priority here."

"This is just as important," he insisted, sitting upright. "You said I used to humiliate you when we were in school."

"So?"

"Why did I? Was it money? Knowing that I used to look down on people poorer than me, will I start thinking that way again?"

"Weasleys and Malfoys have always hated each other," she said dismissively, trying to get back to the subject at hand. "Look, if they –"

"What if there's something in my memories…" He paused, and turned to gaze at her. Ginny's heart dropped to her stomach, for there it was: the look she had missed for what felt like years. The way he used to look at her all the time. "What if I remember something…that changes the way I feel about…?"

"You have to take that risk," she said, even though the idea horrified her. Teenage Draco had loathed all Weasleys; she couldn't bear it if he went back to that thinking. "I won't let them send you to Azkaban."

"And what if it turns out I did kill that boy? Will that change the way you…?"

Ginny looked down at her hands, and was surprised to find she was clutching the threadbare blanket like a lifeline, her knuckles white. "I wish I could tell you everything on my mind," she breathed, "everything I feel and think and want to say – but I can't. I shouldn't even be here, I'm a uniformed Auror –"

"Then you should go," Draco said, leaning forward. "If you got in trouble I wouldn't be responsible for my actions."

He stood and Ginny followed him to the door. Draco looked at her one last time, his eyes blazing with everything they couldn't speak aloud. "What you said last week," he began. "You meant that night – when I broke all the glasses and plates in the kitchen?"

She nodded.

"Everything you said that night –"

"Was false," she whispered.

He ran his trembling hands through his long hair.

She smiled sadly up at him, wanting nothing more than to run into his arms and assure him of her love, instead of speaking in half-sentences and pseudo-code. "The exact opposite is true. Always will be true. No matter the outcome of this trial."

And there it was – the best of all his grins and smiles; the goofy smile that never failed to make her feel warm all over. "Serious?" he asked softly.

"Are you ready to go, Miss Weasley?" Lynn's voice came from the corridor.

"Yes, I am," she replied, her eyes not leaving Draco's. She placed her hand over her heart, and with extreme reluctance slipped out of the cell, leaving him behind.


	32. Against the Madding Crowd

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirty-One – Against the Madding Crowd**

Despite the fact that the pretrial date had been moved forward, the press, as always, found out about it. Ginny had naively hoped – for maybe a moment or two – that they would learn too late to do anything about it, and Draco could avoid the humiliation of being processed before tens of flashing cameras and heartless reporters who cared for nothing except their front-page byline. To say nothing of the downright curious – everywhere she went these days, in any part of Wizarding Britain, there were people asking each other where they thought "that Malfoy boy" had been for the past eight years.

But they were migrating in droves to London in order to see the fugitive heir. Ginny arrived at the Ministry amidst a maelstrom of visitors, who clogged up the security checkpoints and were a general nuisance. The pretrial was not set to begin for another three hours, and yet there they were, the vultures, looking to cackle over the misfortunes of someone else's son. They spoke with accents from all over the Isles: she heard one wizard speak to another in a specific kind of Scottish brogue and she'd actually turned, hoping to see Simon and John. As far as she could tell, scanning the crowds as inconspicuously as possible, they hadn't yet arrived. Miraculously, she avoided detection, and managed to get up to the Auror headquarters without incident.

Ron went to her the moment she was settled at her workspace, his eyes wide. "I know," she said, "I can't believe it either."

"It's just because he's better-looking than Lestrange and Yaxley," Ron spat, leaning against her desk. "You know, the whole thing with him being dragged into it by his parents, being younger –"

"Someone's been reading the _Prophet_," Ginny said dryly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "I mean honestly! None of the other Death Eaters got this much attention!"

"There isn't anything we can say to get rid of them?" Ginny asked. "Not some old rule we can enforce?"

"All pretrials are public," Ron said. "The press would have our heads if they were denied entrance, besides."

They headed down to Courtroom Seven – the largest of the Ministry's courtrooms; she should have remembered that before – a full half-hour before noon, simply because of the sheer volume of spectators they knew would be there. The other Aurors all wished them luck as they left. Most of them were actually attending the pretrial themselves, and the department would be running on a skeleton crew of the three people who'd drawn the short straws. Harry, whose ears were now healed but still sensitive to sound, went down with them, chatting with Ron about all their memories of Draco from Hogwarts.

"And do you remember the one year on the Hogwarts Express," he said, laughing, "when we all hexed them at the same time? Malfoy and those two goons of his? God, they looked disgusting when we were done with them!"

"Mum gave me an earful when I told her," Ron said, smiling uncomfortably. "I think Hermione said something later about attacking people for no good reason as well…"

"This will definitely be interesting," Harry said, as they arrived at the double doors to Courtroom Seven. They had been flung open, and two unlucky, lower-ranking Aurors were currently attempting to control crowd flow in and out of the massive space with little effect. The atmosphere was more fitting to a carnival or festival, with people bringing small refreshments and cameras along with them in the pockets of their dress robes. Young children, even, most probably too young to remember anything of the war, were being herded in by their parents, and no one paid any attention or respect to any of the Ministry officials trying to contain them.

Ginny could only gape. Had the case really blown up like this in the public eye?

Harry led her and Ron up to the small box where the Aurors sat, situated to the left of the seats reserved for the Wizengamot. Above them, row after row of seating radiated out in a semicircle from the centre of the room, packed to bursting with witches and wizards dressed in robes every colour of the rainbow. Ginny scanned the multitude with an increasing feeling of helplessness until she spotted Lucius Malfoy, all in black, seated just behind the Wizengamot's box. Making weak excuses for Harry and Ron, she jumped up and went to him.

Lucius acknowledged her with a faint nod of his head as she approached. "Can nothing be done about…this?" he said, filling the word with so much disdain Ginny almost laughed nervously.

"Nothing, I'm afraid," she said. "I spoke to Draco about what would happen today, but I just now realised that you –"

"I believe I know how pretrials work, thank you," he said coldly. "What will be done about his…memory loss?"

Ginny explained as briefly as she could about the necessary inquiry, treatment at St Mungo's, and how the actual trial would be handled. She was nearing the tail end of her discussion, and noon was rapidly approaching, when a disturbance at the courtroom's entryway caught her attention. There was more than one raised voice, and the crowds were getting noisily backed up behind them. Ginny excused herself from Lucius and raced down the stadium steps, hoping she could diffuse the situation in any way.

She knew who it was even before she saw them. "He's not permitted in," the beleaguered Auror was saying to Simon. "Anyone not a citizen of the United Kingdom –"

"Ahm tellin ye, he's with me!" Simon cried. "Wha, d'ye think he's gonna send state secrets back ta his Sandgroper mates?"

Until this point Ginny had only seen them in Muggle clothing, but fittingly, for the occasion, John was in dress robes. Beside him Simon was in full Scottish dress, wearing a green tartan kilt, sporran, tartan knee socks and buckled shoes, with a black waistcoat and formal jacket on top.

"You can come in, you're a Scot," the Auror said, stating the obvious. "But your companion –"

"Ma _companion_?" Simon said, looking affronted. He slung his arm possessively across John's shoulders. "Mate, this here es the love o me life. Johnny an me are married. So ye _have _ta let him en with me."

Ginny nearly burst with laughter, and had to stuff her fist into her mouth to keep it from coming out. The Auror – and John himself – looked terribly confused.

"Wha?" Simon challenged the Auror. "Johnny, ah do nae think he believes me."

"I don't think he does either," John replied; Ginny thought he looked about to laugh as well. "Maybe he doesn't think a man like me would be with someone like you."

"Ah cannae imagine why."

"I know, you're bloody gorgeous."

"Ta, love."

"All right, I'm sorry!" the Auror cried. "If – if you're really married –"

Simon rolled his eyes. "Just let us en, boyo," he said. "Ahm nae here ta do ewt but see a hearin."

Ginny walked up then, her laughter sufficiently under control. "What seems to be the problem here?"

The Auror – one of the newest cadets, she thought his name was Nigel Bertram – sighed in relief as he turned to her. "This man here isn't a British citizen," he explained.

"That doesn't matter if they've been married at least three years," Ginny said, raising her eyebrow at John and Simon. They grinned broadly at her and nodded, but Ginny fought to keep her expression blank and impassive. "Gentlemen, I apologise for the trouble. Allow me to help you find seats."

"Cheers," Simon said, throwing a scowl back at the hapless Nigel as they both followed her into the courtroom. Ginny fumbled at her sides for their hands and, finding them, squeezed tightly; they both squeezed back. Having the two of them here made Ginny's heart feel abruptly lighter – it was almost as though Draco were guaranteed a full pardon merely because of their presence.

"Bloody hell, Johnny, look at our girl en her fancy uniform," Simon said, giving Ginny an appraising look. "Ahm gettin all kinds o randy."

"Married not five minutes and he's already gone astray," John said, sighing dramatically.

"Come 'ead, ye know ahve got a thing fer authority."

Ginny giggled helplessly. "God, Kinky, I've missed you so much this past week."

"Same here, love," he said, winking at her.

"And I wish my legs looked half as fabulous as yours in a skirt," she teased.

"Bloody lowlanders, et's a _kilt_!"

"Now find seats, both of you," she said, chuckling, shooing them up into the stadium rows. "The Wizengamot will be coming out shortly."

They both continued upwards, while Ginny returned to her seat with Harry and Ron. Harry frowned up at Simon and John's retreating backs. "Who are they?" he asked, frowning.

"They had a spot of trouble getting in," she replied airily. "Unfortunately for them the Wizarding community isn't very forward-thinking, but I've always supported gay rights."

Harry stared at her in surprise, but at that moment the far doors in the courtroom opened and the members of the Wizengamot started filing in. At once, the spectators settled down and the Aurors closed the far doors, sealing the room from further crowds. Leading the Wizengamot was Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had been elected Chief Warlock a few years earlier, a title he had done much in his career to deserve. Everyone present watched in rapt anticipation as the most revered witches and wizards in Britain strode to their reserved box at the head of the courtroom and took their seats. The clocks had chimed noon. The show was about to begin.

Kingsley reached for his gavel and struck once. "These pretrial proceedings are now called to order," he declared, his deep voice carrying throughout the courtroom. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, please state your names so that you may be accounted for on record."

Each member of the Wizengamot – for the entire court was present today, not just a handful – then went through the laborious process of reciting their names. Once the court scribe had marked them down, Kingsley spoke again. "Today we shall hold a pretrial processing, with the actual trial date to be set following the list of charges. If the Wizengamot has no objections or other business, we will get to the task at hand."

No one spoke. The courtroom, moments ago alive with excited chatter and rustling and creaking of benches, had gone silent as a graveyard, with every person in the stands perched breathlessly at the edges of their seats.

"Very well," Kingsley said, gesturing with his hand.

The far doors opened again, and two uniformed guards appeared with Draco between them; another wizard followed. At the first glimpse of him, the courtroom veritably exploded: wizards stood and shouted down at him, screaming abuse at the tops of their lungs; witches hissed and threatened hexes; camera flashbulbs popped and fizzled like short-lived fireworks. Draco, Ginny saw, was dressed in a Muggle three-piece suit: he wore pressed trousers, a waistcoat, and a jacket, all in the same dark grey pinstripe, with a pale blue shirt and a cobalt tie underneath. His hair was neatly combed and pulled away from his face – a face which had shifted into horror and despair at his less-than-welcoming reception by the courtroom public. The two guards led him to the chair that awaited him without ceremony, and stood back as the chains wrapped around his ankles and wrists, visibly shocking Draco. The guards laughed derisively, as did those spectators close enough to see the whites of Draco's eyes.

Kingsley had to bang his gavel several times before the court would quiet down. "Draco Scorpius Malfoy," he intoned, his voice booming through the din, "you are brought before the highest court in the land to determine your guilt in crimes ascribed to your name. Once guilt or innocence is ascertained, you will be tried before a full court at a later date, where you will be able to defend yourself by any means we of the Wizengamot deem necessary and prudent. Is this agreeable to the court?" The assembled courtiers – and more than a few members of the public – made noises of agreement.

"Are you making a mockery of this court, Mr Malfoy?" one witch asked abruptly. Ginny's hands tightened in her lap, her heart already racing in panic.

"I – I don't understand, madam," came Draco's strained reply.

"You're dressed in Muggle clothing," the witch to Kingsley's right barked. "In case you hadn't noticed, this is a Wizarding trial."

"The accused will not be badgered unduly," Kingsley said. "If there are no other interruptions, we shall begin." The witch nodded and gestured for him to continue. "Mr Malfoy, how do you answer to the charge that you did knowingly and willingly join the ranks of the so-called Death Eaters, once known as the Knights of Walpurgis, with the intent to harm Muggles, Muggleborns, and pureblooded witches and wizards not sympathetic to the cause of the leader, the late Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

"I don't know," Draco said.

There was a full second of shocked silence, before roars of laughter ripped through the courtroom; Kingsley needed to use the gavel again. "Mr Malfoy, you are in danger of being held in contempt," he said, frowning thunderously. "I have asked you a question, I require an answer."

"Sir, I don't remember anything prior to November of 1998," Draco said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Is that your official plea?" a wizard just behind Kingsley said.

"Yes, sir," Draco replied. "I remember nothing of the war – or of these crimes." He explained briefly, in nervous and halting tones, about his dissociative fugue. The courtroom hung on his every word, though Ginny noticed more than one person shaking his head in disgust and disbelief.

"Then I suppose I shall read out the rest of the charges, for the record," Kingsley said, and the Wizengamot vocalised its agreement. "Mr Malfoy, you have been accused of the murder of Colin Creevey, assault on Padma Patil, the attempted murder of Katherine Bell, the attempted murder of Ronald Weasley, the attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore –" The courtroom cried out in anger, and it was a long time before Kingsley could continue. "You have also been accused of using the Imperius Curse, being a Death Eater, conspiracy, possession of a cursed object, and endangering minors. You can't answer to _any_ of these charges?"

Draco wasn't even looking up at him anymore, instead staring at the floor. "No," he said hoarsely, "I cannot."

"There is also a charge of evasion," Kingsley added, "but that is currently pending, once the amount of your memory loss has been ascertained. If there is nothing further –"

"Give him Azkaban!" a wizard shrieked from the stands. "The Malfoys don't deserve leniency!"

"Death Eater scum!" a witch cried.

"Villain! Cold-blooded murderer!"

The shouts increased, multiplied, overpowering the sound of Kingsley's gavel. Ginny had known it could be this bad – Percy had warned her – but …God. Not like this. Nothing like this.

Ron put his arms around her and pulled her close to him, pressing his lips to her forehead as the angered shouts continued. "Why?" she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Gin," he murmured, rocking her.


	33. The Truth

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirty-Two – The Truth**

The crowd's angry words rattled in her head for hours after the pretrial; for days; echoing back on each other until the voices were all united in one rousing declaration of loathing. There was no way she could have prepared herself for such an onslaught of pure, unadulterated… _hatred_. She couldn't conceive of such a thing, not even having experienced a year in the mind of Tom Riddle. Riddle's hate had been under wraps, hinted at but never explicitly outlined. Part of her had sensed that he resented being trapped in his diary, resented being made to listen to her teary confessions of love for Harry Potter, but he had never shown it. That, perhaps, had made him even more evil, for the bounds of his revulsion were unknown. This, though – knowing that Draco had no friends or allies in his case, no sanctuary whatsoever – was even more horrifying.

The next natural step in a criminal trial was the trial itself: now that the charges had been introduced and the accused's responses recorded, he would be given the chance to defend himself. Such was the case with Rabastan Lestrange, who had been sentenced to life in Azkaban a few days earlier and given the blackly ironic gift of being returned to the cell he had inhabited before. Yaxley would have been dealt the same fate, had he not been in possession of evidence of Draco's complicity in Colin's murder. That memory had to be retrieved in front of the entire Wizengamot, as protocol dictated.

Kingsley, though, had made necessary a slight detour in this trial: a hearing to determine Draco's mental state. Ginny had only heard about such hearings second-hand through O'Connell, who had once had a criminal claim to be Imperius'd at the moment of the crime. They took place at St Mungo's, where Healers specialising in criminal manipulation and mental states would examine the accused and make a definitive prognosis.

Which did not explain why Ginny had been summoned to Courtroom Thirteen, the tiniest of the courtrooms in the Ministry, via an office memo that disintegrated once she'd finished reading the time and date. Ron received one as well, he revealed to her as she headed down to lunch.

"I've no idea what it's for," he said when she asked. "I've been through tons of criminal trials, and I was never summoned for any secret meetings, or whatever this is."

"I hope it's to discuss the media interference," Ginny said hopefully. "I've no doubt that the crowd reaction at the pretrial was because of the coverage in the _Prophet_. It's character assassination, what they've been reporting. It's disgusting."

Ron only looked at her reflectively for a moment, before turning away. "I'll ask Harry after lunch," he said. "Or maybe Hermione will know what it's about."

"And I'll ask Percy," Ginny said.

They parted at the cafeteria doors, with Ron heading off to his daily lunch date with his wife, and Ginny hunting down Percy. Once she'd gone through the line and fixed her tray of fish and chips, she found him over in the corner with his own food untouched, his nose buried in the latest _Prophet_.

"Anything worth reading in there?" she asked, sitting down across from him.

Percy lowered the paper. "No one believes Malfoy," he said bluntly. "Today's editorial piece is about the aristocracy's fall from grace, and how they still desperately try to cling to the prestige they used to know. 'Draco Malfoy, the heir to arguably the largest fortune in Wizarding England, is no exception to this downward trend,'" Percy read. "'Accused of the most heinous of crimes, stemming from his family's involvement in Tom Riddle's misguided cause, he has attempted to absolve himself from all of them by claiming a convenient case of amnesia. Well, Mr Malfoy, you're going to have to do a lot better than that if you expect to avoid Azkaban, and having Daddy pay everyone off isn't going to do it this time.'"

Ginny's heart sank. "It's all real, Perce," she said. "You were there."

Percy grimaced and set down the paper. "I saw a man who was terrified of being on display, and the target of rampant disgust," he corrected. "I did some research about the Muggle diagnosis he offered and presented my findings to Kingsley, but of course we'll have to obtain our own proof. Kingsley realises this as well, and will act accordingly."

"Then you know about the secret summons Ron and I received today?"

"Only because Kingsley mentioned it to me in passing," Percy said. "The press, for once, will not be, which will be best for all parties involved. Only the court, Mr Malfoy, you and Ron as the Aurors on the case, the wizard guard, and someone from St Mungo's will be present. Consider this a pre-hearing, if you will."

"But what's it for?" Ginny pressed. "Ron and I have never heard of anything like this –"

"Well, it's simple, isn't it?" Percy said, shrugging. "He claims he has amnesia. He might be lying."

"He was given his chance to speak before the court without influence," Ginny said slowly. "And now…"

"It's all strictly by the book, I can promise you that," Percy said, digging into his own lunch. "I would protest if it weren't."

"Then why all the secrecy?"

Percy swallowed his mouthful of food. "Veritaserum is always administered in a closed setting, by law," he said. "Its very volatile nature makes it almost impossible to control a subject once it's given, which is why the questions are designed to require only limited answers. It's just easier if there's fewer people there."

"Good," Ginny said, missing the questioning look on Percy's face as she picked up her fork and started eating.

The private meeting was scheduled for Friday afternoon, when most Ministry employees would leave early to get a head start on the weekend and were less likely to walk in on a hearing that could not be reported to the press. Ron and Ginny left the Auror Department at a little past four to head down to Courtroom Thirteen. Whoever was guarding Draco that day would bring him in separately.

Ginny relayed to him everything Percy had told her as they went. "The rules have changed, then," Ron said, when she told him about how the questions were restricted.

"How do you mean?" Ginny asked.

"Remember when that Umbridge woman tried giving Harry Veritaserum, during our fifth year?" Ron said. "She expected him to give up everything he knew. Definitely was looking for more than just 'yes' or 'no.'"

"It's better this way," Ginny said. "People are vulnerable when they're under the influence of a truth serum. The law protects them from corrupt officials."

"Except that if you're being given Veritaserum by the Ministry, you must've done something illegal in the first place," Ron pointed out.

Ginny said nothing, for she was thinking now of the danger she was in. If Kingsley asked just the right questions, the Wizengamot would learn a whole lot more than they needed to about her relationship to Draco.

The Wizengamot was already assembled when they walked into the tiny courtroom. Two tables were arranged on the floor in front of him, with a high-backed chair in between. Kingsley greeted Ron warmly, like an old friend, and he even approached Kingsley's seat to shake his hand and exchange pleasantries. Ginny went forward with him out of politeness.

"Hello, Ginny," Kingsley said, nodding to her. She smiled back. "So, I'm sure you know what we're doing here and the reason for the secrecy."

"Of course," Ron said, nodding seriously.

"This is Healer Mauritius, who'll be administering the Veritaserum and monitoring Malfoy's responses," Kingsley went on, gesturing to a young woman in lime green robes seated at the side of the room. She waved to them. "Mr Malfoy and his escort should be –"

At that very moment, the door to the courtroom opened and in walked Draco, his hands magically bound behind him, followed by a stern wizard with a face that looked carved from granite. Ginny's heart leapt at the sight of him. Draco was in the black dress robes Ron had loaned him, though he looked somewhat worse for the wear: his stringy hair was long and falling in his face, and a light growth of beard covered his hollow cheeks. His bright eyes flew instantly to Ginny's for a moment, before taking in the rest of the courtroom.

"Ah, excellent," Kingsley said. "Then we shall begin at once." Ron and Ginny stepped back from the Wizengamot's benches and took their seats at the table opposite the Healer. Draco's guard led him to where they had just stood. "Draco Malfoy," Kingsley said solemnly, "because of the nature of your claims during your pretrial, an investigation has been called by the Wizengamot to determine their validity. You shall be fed Veritaserum and then asked concise, specific questions, from which we may move forward in the trial process. You may only answer 'yes,' 'no,' or 'I don't know.' Any further clarifications you give at your own risk. Do you have anything you wish to say before the truth serum is administered?"

Draco gulped. "You mean – I drink this potion thing and I can't lie? At all?"

"That's the general idea," Kingsley said dryly. "If that's all, please take your seat."

The guard moved Draco back to his chair, to which he was then bound. Draco flexed his fingers, in and out, and wet his lips. He seemed outwardly calm, but Ginny could tell that underneath it all he was absolutely petrified.

The Healer moved forward then, bearing a small phial of clear liquid. "Open your mouth, please," she said softly, and Draco did so. Extending forward, she placed a single drop under his tongue, then retreated to her seat.

"The serum takes effect instantly, so without further ado we shall begin," Kingsley said, shifting in his seat. "Mr Malfoy, you claimed to have suffered a dissociative fugue?"

"Yes," Draco said. His eyes looked glassy and flat.

"So you remember your life after November of 1998?"

"Yes."

"But nothing of consequence before that date?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember attending the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

He winced. "N-no."

"Do you remember any of the following names: Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott?"

Again, he seemed to have to strain himself to answer. "No."

Kingsley leaned forward. "Are you responsible for the murder of Colin Creevey?"

Draco started struggling against his bonds suddenly, baring his teeth. The members of the Wizengamot looked at each other, perplexed, and the Healer stood to check on Draco. It wasn't until she felt Ron pulling at her arm that Ginny realised she'd lurched forward; she sat back at once, heart pounding. "He'll answer, they always do," the Healer assured them all. "No one has ever been able to lie under the influence."

"Mr Malfoy," Kingsley repeated, "are you responsible for the murder of Colin Creevey?"

"I – don't – know," Draco managed at last, sagging in his chair. His chest heaved as he regained his breath.

"Would you be able to identify Colin Creevey in a crowd?"

"No."

"Do you know who Colin Creevey is?"

"No."

"Do you know how he was murdered?"

"No."

Kingsley frowned and made a notation on his scroll. "Before you were arrested by Mr Weasley and Miss Weasley, were you living in England?"

"Yes."

"As a wizard?"

"No."

"As a Muggle, then?"

Draco frowned, his brows knit in confusion. "Let me rephrase," Kingsley said. "Were you living without the daily use of magic?"

"Yes."

Ginny's pulse raced. They had to get away from this line of questioning, or else they would find that there had been a registered wand carrier living with Draco all that time. She couldn't bear it if they found cause to deport John.

"Were you aware of any past misdeeds on your part?"

"No."

"You were completely ignorant of your magical roots and history?"

"Yes," Draco whispered, bowing his head. Ginny bit her lip and twisted her fingers in her lap.

"You assumed a new identity as a non-magic person, then?"

"Yes."

"You obtained Muggle employment?"

"Yes."

"Are you a British citizen?"

"Yes."

"Is this how Miss Weasley found you – whilst you were living the life of a regular British citizen?"

"Yes."

"Are you responsible for the murder of Colin Creevey?" Kingsley asked again, out of nowhere.

For a second time, Draco's back arched, his head flung back and his eyes clamped shut. "_I – don't – know_," he moaned, as if in pain.

"Healer Mauritius, what is the cause of this peculiar reaction?" one of the witches asked.

The Healer stood respectfully. "This kind of reaction has only occurred a few times in the history of the serum," she explained. "In our experiences at St Mungo's, we've found that it happens when a patient used to know an answer, but something has rendered them incapable of retrieving the memory that would provide that answer."

Kingsley scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Then in your professional opinion, would you agree that Mr Malfoy is suffering from genuine amnesia?"

"I would, Mr Shacklebolt," the Healer replied.

"Does the Wizengamot accept Mr Malfoy's answers, along with Healer Mauritius' expertise, as incontrovertible proof of his amnesia?"

The witches and wizards all chorused, "Aye."

"The charge of evasion is hereby wiped from the record," Kingsley declared. "But a suspect cannot be tried if he does not remember sufficient details of the crime of which he is accused. Treatment, under the watchful eyes of the Aurors on this case and select representatives of this court, will commence at St Mungo's starting tomorrow at eleven in the morning. Mr Malfoy will be treated by the foremost experts on memory loss and have his memories restored to him in their most complete form. He will then be given a period of no more or less than one week to contemplate his crimes, before he will be brought before the full Wizengamot for trial. Is this acceptable to all?"

Again the members of the court voiced their agreements.

On an impulse, Ginny stood at her place, her chair scraping against the stone floor. "If I may," she said nervously, "Mr Shacklebolt, what will be the court's action should Mr Malfoy's memories prove irretrievable?"

"Impossible," the wizard to Kingsley's left scoffed. "No one has ever permanently lost their memory."

"With all respect, sir," Ginny said, "Mr Malfoy has undergone extensive treatment from Muggle practitioners for his dissociative fugue. They were not able to recover anything at all."

The wizard frowned at her. "And how do you know this, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny faltered. "Through my – my undercover work," she said. "My reports are all included in the file on Mr Malfoy's case."

"I appreciate your concerns," Kingsley said. "They won't go unnoticed. However, as I'm sure you'll agree, our medicine is much more effective than Muggle medicine. I don't doubt we'll be able to do much with Mr Malfoy's memory that the Muggles could not. If there is nothing further, this hearing is adjourned until the trial."

And that was that. Ginny stood with Ron, catching Draco's eye. He was staring at her in silent agony, still breathing hard from the Veritaserum.

"It's a risk we have to take," she murmured as she passed him, softly enough that no one else could hear her.

Draco bowed his head and said nothing.


	34. Conquering the Mind

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirty-Three – Conquering the Mind**

Ginny made to leave and head for her flat directly after the Veritaserum administration, and Ron followed after her. The Ministry was almost completely quiet, with only a few Magical Maintenance workers charming mops and brooms to clean the floors, and security witches and wizards double-checking the protective wards that went up over the weekend. Their footsteps echoed slightly in the entrance hall as they went, and Ginny's thoughts wandered, as ever, to Draco.

Ron stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, just before she would have stepped into the closest fireplace. "Come have tea with me for a mo," he said. "I want to talk to you about something."

Ginny blinked up at him, surprised. "Er – if you'd like. Caffe Nero all right?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

Ginny gave him a wary smile and stepped into the hearth, and at once she shot back up into the public toilets aboveground. Ron appeared in the stall beside her, and they removed their Ministry robes before walking out and into the street.

London was beautiful this time of night. The sky still held a hint of daylight above their heads, and the ever-present cloud cover had turned all shades of pink and orange. Automobiles drove up and down with their headlights on, past theatres with their colourful broadsides lit for all to see. Ginny looked wistfully into the window of one Indian restaurant, where an entire family sat eating dinner and laughing together, but Ron led her past them.

Caffe Nero was dark and smoky, with some faint jazz playing in the background, when they entered. They both ordered hot tea and took their cups to a table in the back, not far from a couple who were cooing to each other and interrupting themselves only to kiss. Ginny swallowed back her jealousy and made sure her back was to them.

Ron dunked his teabag once or twice in his cup before speaking. "You need to be more careful, Gin," he said softly. "Harry came up to me yesterday and wanted to know if I'd noticed anything 'funny' between you and Malfoy."

"I don't care two Sickles about what that git thinks," Ginny ground out.

"You should," Ron retorted. "He's your boss, Gin. He still has the power to remove you from the case."

Ginny sighed and closed her eyes, simply inhaling the fumes from her peppermint tea as she rested her chin in her hand. "What did he say, then?"

"It was something Malfoy said the other day – when Harry lost his hearing? I really don't want to repeat it, but Malfoy generally implied that he knew you a bit better than he should have. If you know what I mean."

"What do you want me to say to that, Ron?" Ginny asked, arching her eyebrows. "That it's true? That I have no idea what he's talking about?"

"I want you to tell me that you'll be more careful about that kind of thing leaking to the worst people possible," Ron said sharply. "I've seen the way Malfoy moons at you whenever you're in the room. You've been slightly more discreet, but… If the press ever suspected anything the repercussions would be like you wouldn't believe. An Auror having a – a _thing_ with an enemy of the Ministry? Forget the soap operas, everyone would be on that in no time."

"A 'thing'?" Ginny said derisively. "What are you, still in Hogwarts?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine. Are you in love with him?"

"Yes," she breathed, looking away.

He sighed and leaned forward, his blue eyes looking at her earnestly. "I'm sorry, Gin."

"Yeah, I am as well."

"You can't spend any more time alone with him in the holding cells. It just looks too suspicious."

Her heart sank. "I know that."

"But…bloody hell, I can't believe I'm even considering this," he said, laughing a little. "When we go to St Mungo's tomorrow. I'll figure something out. So you can see him."

"Would you?"

Ron had turned bright red. "I'm rationalising it by saying that if his morale is low, he'll try to off himself again and avoid being tried," he said to the tabletop. "After the incident with Travers, we can't afford another mistake like that."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "But why are you really doing this?"

He shrugged, and took a sip of his tea. "I thought that seeing Malfoy again would bring back all of the hate from Hogwarts, but…I don't know. I think I do still loathe him a bit, but – it's pity, mostly." He shook his head, frowning. "I don't care how much of a git you are, if you have to watch some strange woman die and have people tell you she's your mother…Merlin. It's just –" Ron shook his head again, wincing.

Ginny reached across the table for his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you," she murmured. "I'll tell him to not be so obvious, I promise. No one will suspect a thing."

"Good," Ron said quickly, sounding relieved. "Because if it gets any more blatant, I'd have to tell Harry about it."

Ginny went back to her flat that night with a spark of hope, however faint, knowing that she would be able to see Draco privately again. A folded parchment with her name on it sat on her coffee table when she stepped into her sitting room. Ginny dove for it, knowing it had to be from John and Simon, and once she had broken the seal and opened it, the tidy signature near the bottom confirmed her suspicions:

_Dear Ginny,_

_First of all, thanks very much for helping me get into the hearing on Tuesday. Kinky was sure his ruse was foolproof, but I always like having a Plan B with him. You understand, I'm sure._

_It was a bit of a knock back for us, the public reaction in the courtroom. If there's anything we can do to help Draco's case at all, say the word and we're there. I know that my testimony isn't permissible, but Kinky seems to think that his ancestry would make him an acceptable witness should you wish to call him to the stand. Evidently the __Kincaids__ are very prominent pureblood wizards. I wouldn't know, all that blood purity __figjam__ goes right over my head._

_Anyway – It looks like you managed to get the suitcase I packed to Draco, as that suit he was wearing at the hearing was an old one of mine I loaned to him. I'm glad I was able to help. He looked a bit peaky, but I suppose prison life isn't exactly agreeable to anyone. I hope you're keeping your end of the bargain, Ginny. Draco doubts himself very easily, and can be moody as hell when he wants to be, and I'm sure this situation doesn't exactly have the poor bastard all smiles. He was the happiest I'd seen him whenever he was with you, so please do what you can. We know that our part of what was fated is over, but you should see Kinky worrying holes in our carpets with his pacing._

_Keep in touch about the trial dates. Tell Draco his favourite __Strine__ said, "She'll be apples."_

_As always – be strong._

_Much love,_

_John_

_—And from the __Sawnie__: Chin up, Dragon boy!!! Spot of bother coming your way, Ginny, so keep a weather eye. —K_

Ginny smiled all the way through the letter, comforted by John's genial tone and Simon's scrawled postscript at the end. But Simon's final words gave her distinct chills. He must have Seen something, but knowing that it was coming didn't make her feel any better about it. Even if the thing was just a "spot of bother." She wondered what it could be.

She was only a few minutes late to arrive at St Mungo's the next morning, a definite improvement over her prior punctuality record. Ron was waiting for her in the lobby and together they attracted not a small amount of attention, the two of them in their bright scarlet Auror robes. With him was a young Healer in his own lime green uniform. Ginny wasn't sure which of them had the better deal, as far as obnoxiousness of the required wardrobe went.

"The patient was brought in last night and checked into our secure ward," the Healer said to Ron and Ginny, after he introduced himself as Healer Sebastian Banks. "We've cleaned him up as well – I personally find that not allowing prisoners to properly bathe does nothing to benefit either party." This was said with a somewhat scornful look, as though they were to blame for the fact that Draco hadn't been given any soap in far too long.

"Good," Ron said, twisting his nose. "He was a bit ripe last we saw him."

"Right this way, then," Healer Banks said, turning on his heel and leading them to the secure ward. It was separated from the rest of the hospital, near the back, and protected by numerous charms meant to keep the patient-prisoners in their beds and away from the others. Ginny's heart skipped a beat as they walked through the double doors that led to the ward; it was like stepping out of the sunshine and into the shadows.

"Explain what's going to happen, if you would?" Ron asked as they went. "I've never had to go through anything like this before."

"It's fairly straightforward," Healer Banks said airily. "The patient will be strapped to a flat surface and fed our revolutionary potion. What it does is essentially make lost memories retrievable."

"So even when people suffer amnesia, their memories don't go away?" Ginny said.

"No, they're still in there," Banks confirmed. "It's a matter of simply teaching the brain how to access them once more."

"But why the straps?" Ron said.

Banks frowned, just as they approached the room they were looking for and walked in. Kingsley and five other senior members of the Wizengamot were arranged in comfortable chairs along one side of the room. They all faced the flat surface the Healer had described: a long table with ankle and wrist straps. It looked as though they were about to witness a torture session, not a medical procedure, a realisation that did nothing to ease her mind. The whole feel of the room, coupled with the sight of that table, made Ginny's apprehension skyrocket to uncomfortable heights.

"It's not natural, what the potion does," Banks said, answering Ron's question. "So the process of, as we say, unlocking the mind, is not a very smooth one. The patient needs to be restrained for his own safety and the safety of observers."

"I feel like I'm about to watch an exorcism," Kingsley said dryly, rising to greet them. "There aren't any negative side effects to this potion, are there?"

"None that we've found," Banks said. "We have a ninety-eight percent success rate when using this particular potion on amnesiacs – meaning that their memory was fully restored. The other two percent only remembered portions of what was lost, but significant portions all the same."

"Excellent," Kingsley said, dry washing his hands. "Then if we could get started…?"

"Of course." Banks tapped his wand against his Healer badge, and moments later two other Healers arrived with Draco between them. Ginny's heart rose at the sight of him: he had been given a shave and a haircut, and he looked almost like the Ben Hamilton she had known a few short weeks ago. He held her gaze perhaps longer than was wise, before his escort led him to stand in front of Kingsley and took his attention away from her.

"Mr Malfoy," Kingsley intoned, "do you understand what will take place today?"

"I do," Draco said hoarsely, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm to get my memory back."

"Very good. Healer Banks, I hand over control of the procedure to you."

Kingsley returned to his seat, and Ron and Ginny sat beside him while the two Healers took Draco to the table and strapped him to it. Banks went to a little metal cart along the wall, where a small steaming cauldron bubbled. Ginny watched anxiously as Banks removed the cauldron from heat and dipped a beaker into it, removing a dose of electric blue potion.

"This doesn't exactly taste very good," Banks warned Draco, "but what potion does?" A few of the Wizengamot members chuckled. Ginny was riveted as Banks helped Draco sit up slightly and upended the potion into his open mouth.

"It should be a few moments before it takes effect," Banks said, and no sooner had he spoken than Draco emitted a low grunt, his eyes clamped shut. His breath came hard and shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his pale blue inpatient robes.

"So it begins," one witch said to another. The Wizengamot all leaned forward in their seats as Draco groaned, ending in a faint whimper. He pulled slightly at his wrist restrains, as though he were trying to reach for his head.

"There will be some discomfort, but he should be fine," Banks said, smiling at them.

And then, like he'd been stuck with a needle or jolted with electricity, Draco's back arched into the air, a drawn-out moan escaping his lips. He writhed against his restraints, pulling at his wrists so hard that the straps very nearly looked about to give. His heels banged against the table surface, again, again, again, then he had curled into himself as far as he could, lying on his side panting for breath. His legs moved restlessly, up, down.

"This is 'some discomfort'?" Ginny said angrily, her nails embedding themselves into her palms. "I'd like him still in one piece when this is over."

"You're killing me," Draco managed, his eyes suddenly open and wide. "What did you give me? I'm dying. Bloody hell, I'm—!" A scream ripped from his throat and he arched his back again, up and up until only his head and heels touched the table.

"Is this normal?" Kingsley bellowed.

Healer Banks looked confounded, and Draco kept screaming. "I've never seen anything like it," he cried. "Nothing like it at all."

"Help him!" Ginny cried, and only Ron's hand clamped around her wrist kept her from jumping up and going to the table.

"_Stop!_" Draco shrieked, thrashing on his table, hard enough to make it jump around on the floor. "_Please! Make it STOP!_"

"Pin him down!" Banks called to the other two Healers, and they did as he ran his wand over Draco's taut body. "He's fine," he confirmed, the tip of his wand glowing white, "it's just his mind, resisting the potion –"

"He's in pain!" Ginny said, and it wasn't until she heard the catch in her voice that she realised tears were running down her cheeks unchecked. Draco kept screaming. Every moment she had to watch him in obvious agony felt like knives in her heart and _Draco kept screaming_.

"I'm sorry," Ron said loudly, hustling them both to their feet, "my sister is very sensitive, I think we'll –"

"Let go of me," she hissed. "I'm not –"

And just as suddenly as he'd started, Draco collapsed, limp and lifeless as a rag doll. His head lolled away from them. His arms sagged in their restraints, his hands hanging over the edge of the table.

For a horrifying second, Ginny thought he might be dead.


	35. How High?

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirty-Four – How High?**

Ron finished the job he'd started and bustled Ginny out of the room, hanging onto her upper arm with a vicelike grip. They went several yards down the corridor before she at last wrenched herself away.

"Pull yourself together," Ron snapped. "Dry your eyes, blow your nose." He pulled out a clean handkerchief and shoved it into her hands. "Are you _trying_ to give me heart palpitations? Didn't you just promise me that you would be a little more discreet from now on?"

"You have no idea," Ginny said unevenly, swiping at her streaming eyes. "What if that had been Hermione? Hugo? Rose? Would you have been able to just sit there and look on?"

Ron blanched. "But he's – he looks fine."

"He looks dead!" she cried, starting a fresh wave of tears.

"I saw him breathing before we left the room," Ron said, more quietly now. "He's alive. Not conscious, it looks like, but alive."

"Oh God," she moaned, burying her face in his handkerchief. She felt Ron encircle her with his arms and pull her close. She let him.

"I heard Kingsley say they'll let him spend the night here to recuperate, before sending him back to his holding cell," Ron said, keeping his voice down. "You might be able to get in to see him in a few hours."

"Did the potion work?" she breathed. "Will he remember everything?"

"They don't know yet. But you heard Healer Banks – ninety-eight percent success rate, Gin. Reckon he will."

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stop crying. She had known this day would come, had known it for weeks now. She could only hope that there was enough Ben Hamilton still in him. If she went to him, and he remembered her from Hogwarts and how much he had hated her then…

Cynically, she told herself it would be easier if he remembered everything and loathed her again. Then there would be nothing to hide, nothing to pretend. Harry could take his suspicions and shove them where the sun didn't shine.

_Hopefully, you'll find that I'm not like most blokes._

_A toast. To us._

_I'm completely mad about you, Gin._

Yes, it would be much easier if he hated her. In theory.

Ron took her back to the main part of the hospital and up to the café, where he treated her to coffee and a chocolate biscuit. They were quiet as they ate at their little table, unmindful of the patients and families of patients who wandered in and out. Saturdays were busy for St Mungo's, what with people being home from work and more likely to have mishaps with spells gone wrong and trying out tricky potions for the first time. But Ginny found herself focussing on one witch in particular who seemed to generate her own inner light, who glowed so brightly there was only one reason Ginny could think of for her being there. A handsome wizard sat with her, and every now and then the witch would bring his hand to her protruding belly to feel some movement from the child within her.

Ginny would have given anything to be in that witch's shoes. Her parents would be waiting in their hospital room, her mother bossing around the Healers. Her brothers would gather around her and cluck like mother hens, teasing her about getting knocked up and having a daughter who would scream louder than she did. And by her side would sit Draco, a proud father-to-be, speaking to her stomach and delighting in each kick and somersault…

"Are you all right, Miss Weasley?"

She looked up from the crumbs of her biscuit and found Kingsley standing behind them, a concerned look on his face. One other member of the Wizengamot was with him, a tall, broad man with dark eyes. "I'm fine, sir," she said, forcing a smile. "I've just been a bit, you know, emotional lately. I'm not usually so weepy."

"Ah," Kingsley said quickly. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that." Ginny smothered an amused snort; men _always_ became uncomfortable when female issues came up. "I was hoping we could all have a brief chat before we call it a day?"

"Of course, sir," Ron said, nodding, and Kingsley led them out of the café to the administrative wing of the hospital, made up almost entirely of offices and conference rooms. They ducked into a smaller one near a stairwell and made themselves comfortable at a round wooden table.

"I spoke to Healer Banks after Malfoy lost consciousness," Kingsley began solemnly, meeting their eyes in turn. "He's never seen a reaction quite like the one we just saw a few hours ago, and frankly, he's baffled. The amnesia is perhaps more profound than he first thought."

"Was he shown our brother Percy's report on dissociative fugues?" Ginny asked.

The other court member nodded in the affirmative. "He didn't think it would make a difference, the type of amnesia," he said. "In the past, it hasn't mattered. Then again, St Mungo's has never handled this kind of condition."

"It's rare even in the Muggle world," Ginny confirmed.

"So what's our next move?" Ron asked.

"The treatment cannot be administered again," Kingsley said, "for Healer Banks fears that Malfoy's mind wouldn't last a second dosage. So this is it: his memories have either been restored completely, in parts, or not at all. If his memory is back in full, then we will proceed as planned before – Malfoy will be given a week to digest his guilt and the charges against him, and be tried accordingly. If he doesn't remember his crimes…" Kingsley sighed. "This is where the Wizengamot cannot agree."

"He is a pureblood wizard from an old family," the courtier said stiffly. "His treatment since his capture has been appalling, Shacklebolt. The trial should be made private, as it is no one's business what he did or did no do."

"So, what, because he's a pureblood he deserves more perks than a Muggleborn or a half-blood prisoner?" Ron interjected angrily. "I'm sorry, but didn't we _just_ fight a war to prove that they're the same as everyone else?"

"I see no reason for you to be upset," the courtier said, arching an eyebrow. "You are a pureblood yourself."

"Gentlemen," Kingsley said in a warning tone. "Malfoy's blood status notwithstanding, we are unable to agree how he should be tried. Amnesia isn't an excuse, because if he did commit these crimes, we know that he was of sound mind at the criminal moment. But he will be unable to plead guilty or not guilty when faced with these charges."

"Perhaps we should wait until we know whether his memory's back," Ron said, still eyeing the courtier warily. "Otherwise it's just needless worrying. He might remember everything."

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully, tracing a random pattern on the tabletop. "Whatever is yet to come in this case, I don't doubt it will be unique in the Wizengamot's history," he said slowly. "My duty is to the Wizarding public, to ensure that dangerous criminals who threaten the peace are put in their proper place behind bars."

"And you do a fine job of it, Shacklebolt," the other wizard said. "But there are also the rights of the accused to consider."

"It goes without saying that there is still much to work out," Kingsley agreed. "Well. I am keeping you from a beautiful Saturday evening, so I will see you all on Monday."

The four of them stood and bid each other farewell, before departing the room and going in opposite directions. Without saying a word to one another, Ginny and Ron both started back towards Draco's room. "It actually shouldn't be a problem for you to get in to see him," Ron murmured. "Because of all the protections in the secure ward, I reckon he's left pretty well alone unless there's an emergency."

Ginny's heart lifted to her throat. "Will you stand watch outside – just in case?"

"Of course."

They returned to the proper wing and found it nearly deserted, exactly as it had been when they'd first arrived. Ron pulled out his wand and muttered diagnostic spells under his breath; Ginny recognised a few that Bill had taught them that detected people and observation charms in the immediate vicinity. "No one likes being around prisoners if they don't absolutely have to be," Ron said dryly, giving her a grim look. "I'm not picking up anything that would sense you were in there with him."

"Thank Merlin," she breathed.

"I'm not standing out here for hours, so use your time wisely," he said, before Ginny dashed to the door of Draco's room and slipped inside. She threw a smile at Ron from over her shoulder before shutting the door behind her.

That disgusting table with the straps had gone, along with the cauldron of potion and the chairs for the Wizengamot, and now the room seemed shockingly vacant. All that remained was a standard hospital bed, the upper half tilted at an angle, with a wooden chair on one side and a table with a glass of water on it on the other. A door in the far wall that she hadn't noticed earlier led to a tiny loo.

The bed was empty.

Ginny stepped further into the room, her heart beating harder with every step, until she saw that Draco was seated at the far window, set deep into the thick walls of the hospital, on the wide ledge with his arms draped over his raised knees. He stared outside at the Muggle pedestrians and street traffic below, his eyes unwavering and unblinking. She ran to him immediately, hoping that Harry's ward had been removed and sagging in relief when she found it was.

"Draco," she breathed. She stretched out one hand and rested it on the back of his head. "Are you all right? Did they give you something for the pain? I was so worried, I had no idea the treatment would be like this at all…"

He said nothing. He did not even acknowledge her approach.

Ginny moved into his periphery with her hand now on his shin, trying to catch his eye. "I know you wanted to be able to remember your past, and I'm sorry that it had to come at such a price. Believe me, I never wanted to see you hurt."

Nothing.

Her shoulders slumped. "Don't do this," she whispered. "Please don't do this. I'm trying to help you in any way that I – budge up a bit, would you?"

This request, of all things, caught his attention. When he turned slowly to look at her, Ginny slid onto the ledge behind him, her back against the wall, her legs on either side of his body. Without needing to be asked he leaned back until he was nestled in with her, and Ginny was all around him – her knees poking up from under his arms, his head resting on her left shoulder, her arms wrapped round his own shoulders with a desperation that shocked even her. Here he was, solid and very present and she could _touch_ him – nothing seemed more miraculous to her at that moment than the simple fact of his sweet-smelling hair, and his pale skin, and the promise of more skin under his plain robes. She pressed a series of kisses into the short hair behind his ear and exhaled in relief. This was where she belonged. Maybe he felt it too, because now, despite his earlier lack of response, he had reached up and covered one of her hands with his own.

"I'm not going anywhere, Draco," Ginny said softly. "You push me away, but I'm not giving up on you."

"Maybe you should," he said at last, in the scratchy tone of someone who has wasted their voice screaming.

"But I won't. You know I won't."

"Then you're a fool."

She pulled him closer, knowing it was not enough. His heartbeat was erratic, faint through the layers of their clothes. "You're a fool for thinking you can push me away," she murmured.

Draco released a ragged sigh, and perhaps unconsciously tugged on her hand. "You deserve someone whole. Good and decent and whole. Who has the rest of his life to spend with you and will treat you as you deserve to be treated."

Ginny thought again of the pregnant witch she had seen in the hospital café, her doting husband at her side. Could that ever be her? Them? Maybe she should go to Simon and have him look into the indiscernible future with his fearsome gift, make him tell her what the end of this story would be. Did it end with the heroine and her true love getting married and filling a house with children? Or maybe instead there would be this "spot of bother" looming over them, tearing everything apart. She wanted to know. With a tiredness that permeated her very soul, she wanted to know how the story concluded.

"How can I say it?" she breathed. "How many times, what words – how do I convince you that I won't leave you?"

"It's for your own good," he said gruffly, pushing himself upright. He swivelled and his eyes bore down on her, staring at her from a place of deepest despair. It almost made her want to cry with him. "I am half a man, Ginny. And not even a very good half."

"I don't care, Draco –"

"You _should_," he insisted, and he twisted and grabbed her hands. "I am going to Azkaban, where I belong –"

She shook her head, her vision blurring. "You don't mean that."

"How do you know? How do you know the extent of the evils I've done?" He launched himself off of the window ledge and away from her, his hands in his hair, his back bent.

He remembered something. Ginny's heart sank. How much?

"King's Cross," Draco muttered as he paced. "Shinguards. Albino peacocks. French. Italian. Schoolmate. Monster."

"One memory?" she said in disbelief. "Then the potion didn't work?"

"The doctor had me convinced it would," he said, stopping by the table with the glass of water. He stared at it, unseeing. "They shake loose whenever they want to, regardless of what I'm thinking or doing. Just a few. They have been since my mother died. I didn't tell you. The potion hasn't stopped or helped it."

Ginny exhaled harshly, stricken.

"I remember vague feelings, unconnected to anything," he said flatly, his voice almost without inflection. "I remember a birthday cake. I remember reading books in the branches of a twisted tree. But then the potion –" Draco shuddered. "A thing with white skin and red eyes like slits. A humanoid snake, or a serpentine human."

Of all the things he could have remembered, of course he had to remember Tom.

"I was before him – like this –" Draco knelt on the floor on both knees, his hands outstretched in a position of supplication. Ginny slid off the ledge warily. "He commanded me to kill someone. Without saying why, just told me to do it. And I said I would" Ginny moved closer to him, pained by the expression on his face, and he looked up at her when he noticed her movement. "This is the man you refuse to leave," Draco said bitterly. "A cold-blooded murderer. Are you so sure of your devotion now?"

Without even a moment's hesitation, Ginny knelt on the floor with him and held his face in her trembling hands. "You didn't kill him," she whispered. "I know you didn't. You never followed that monster. He marked them, his followers, and you don't –" She reached desperately for his left arm and pushed up the sleeve, revealing the naked expanse of his skin. "Nothing there. You were never his."

"I wanted to be," Draco mumbled, his head bent forward.

"No," she insisted. "You weren't his. You're mine – and I won't let anyone else have you."

Ginny pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him forcefully, knowing that he might push her away as he had before, but he kissed her back. Thank God, he kissed her back. His long-fingered hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head to a different, more blissful angle as he parted her lips with his tongue and deepened the kiss further. She melted into him, pouring everything into kissing his lips, his jaw, the spot beneath his ear that made him shudder uncontrollably. They clung to each other with tense fingers like claws, desiring and needing to get as close to each other as possible and failing deliciously. "Say it," he muttered against her skin. "I need to hear –"

"I love you, Draco," she breathed, her voice catching as he moaned into the crook of her throat. "I never stopped."

They would have gone on had Ron's Patronus not leapt into the room. "Someone's coming," the Jack Russell terrier said to her in her brother's voice. "We need to get out of here."

"I'll come back, I promise," she said breathlessly, rising and straightening her uniform. Draco followed her to his feet and drew her back for one last, lingering kiss. "Get your rest. I'll come back as soon as I can. I love you."

Draco's hair was mussed and his lips swollen with her kisses when she chanced looking back. He had never looked so beautiful. "I love you, Ginny," he murmured.

She blew him a teary kiss as she left the room.


	36. Friends and Family

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

I'm sure some of you have noticed that in the past there were more chapters of this fic at FIA. It's not because I update there more often, but because I started adding the story there before I did here, and I just never caught up. As of this post, now both sites will have the same number of chapters and will be updated simultaneously.

I know that I haven't been responding to reviews the way I used to, and that's simply because of the sheer number this story is receiving. Know that I do read each and every one, and I appreciate them all. Thank you so much for your kind words. -- cb

**Chapter Thirty-Five – Friends and Family**

Ginny and Ron parted ways to return to their own homes once they reached the street, but Ginny made a detour to Earl's Court, striding purposefully up to the red-brick townhouse and ringing the bell. Not a second later, the door opened to reveal a grinning Simon.

"Es et scary how good ah am?" he called back into the house.

John appeared behind him, rolling his eyes and munching on Shreddies from the box. "He says to me fifteen minutes ago, 'look sharp, Ginny's coming over.' Someday I _will_learn not to bet against someone who can see the future."

Ginny laughed as she stepped into the front hall. "I've just come from seeing Draco," she began.

"Ah can tell," Simon said, winking.

Ginny blushed and ducked her head, though she sobered quickly before she went on. "He's in a terrible state right now," she told them. "They gave him their potion to reverse amnesia and it didn't quite work, but he was screaming, and – and just in so much pain…"

John winced. "Bloody hell," he muttered around a mouthful of cereal.

"So I was wondering if you'd be willing to risk visiting him."

"As ef we'd say no," Simon said with a snort. "Tell us what we need ta do, we'll do et."

"Reckon disguises might be called for?" John asked. "I've always been good at Concealment Charms."

"Yes, I think that's an excellent idea," Ginny said. "I've already hammered out a few of the details, so if I can just run them by you…"

She stayed with them for several hours discussing what kind of disguises they would need, when they would go, what to do if they were separated or someone approached them asking questions. Dinnertime came; they ordered takeaway from what Simon said was Draco's favourite Chinese place, a remark that nearly made Ginny fall apart. Here they were, cosy and comfortable on the floor eating noodles out of paper boxes, while Draco languished alone in a sterile hospital. John, noticing her melancholy, nudged her with his elbow. "We never did tell you about the first time Draco ever saw a computer," he said, and in no time he and Simon had her laughing again.

At some point much later in the evening, John mentioned that Simon had to be up early the next morning for work. As they had told her when they'd first met, Simon was the copyeditor for the _Guardian_'s football section.

But he just shrugged. "Told me superior ah had a family crisis," he replied. "An ahve been savin me holidays this year, so ahve got plenty o time ta take off. He understands."

"What have you been telling Draco's restaurant?" Ginny asked, frowning.

"Ben Hamilton es en hospital with meningitis," Simon said. "Very contagious. No visitors allowed."

"Then I suppose I'll be the only one turning in," John said, standing and stretching. "I've got to put in a few hours at the shop tomorrow, before we go to hospital. Ginny, a pleasure as always." He bade them both goodnight and trudged heavily up the stairs.

It was quiet for a few moments after John left, as Simon and Ginny cleared their takeaway rubbish and put leftovers in the fridge. Ginny was about to mention that she should probably get home, when Simon folded his arms and leaned against the workspace – the very spot where Draco had stood as she fed him lies she thought she had to tell. "Ask me," he said.

Ginny blinked, only staring at him a moment. "I beg your pardon?"

"Ye wanna ask me a question, ah can See et," Simon went on. "So get et off your chest, love. Ask me."

She looked down at her hands, then back up at his dark eyes. "How will this all end?" she whispered. "You know exactly what's going to happen, don't you?"

Simon tilted his head back towards the ceiling, and studied the dull lamp above them. "The future's never set en stone, Ginny," he said slowly. "The things ah See – they change on the hour. People make choices, change their minds, change how things will end up all the time. What ah See es only possibilities. Et's extremely educated guesses compared ta what normal people predict, but still guesses."

"But you know."

"Yes," he said. "Ah know how the trial's gonna end."

"Will you tell me?" she asked, her voice rising in hope.

Simon chuckled bitterly. "You know the story o Cassandra, yeah?"

"Of course – the Trojan princess, the first Seer –"

"Who was cursed so tha people never believed a word she said," he finished. "She's nae the only one who suffers et. All Seers carry the same curse. Ah could stand righ here an tell ye what ah See, and ye would nae believe me."

"But I would," Ginny insisted, stepping forward, "I know that what you See is –"

"Et's either just what ye wanna hear, or et's the last thing ye want ta happen," Simon said over her. "Either way, what ah tell ye might nae come true. Tellin you might change et."

"Can't you say anything?" she asked in anguish. "Draco thinks he _deserves_ to be sent to Azkaban. That's why I wanted you and John to see him, because he's just so low…"

Simon winced and looked away. "Ah knew et would come ta this," he said softly.

"You told me that something's going to happen soon – in the letter you sent –"

"An ah regret the writin of et every day since."

"Why won't you tell me? Please, Simon –"

"Ahm nae a fookin Magic Eight Ball, Ginny," he cried. "Ye cannae shake me up an have all your questions answered like tha." He snapped his fingers.

She retreated at once. "I didn't mean it like –"

"Oh, but ye did. Ahve got the easy answers, es that et? Doan worry, you're nae the first and certainly nae the last ta think ahm ewt but a bloody oracle." He approached her and gripped her upper arms. "You've got so much more work ahead of you, helpin Dragon Boy. Et's nae over yet."

"I know," she whispered, her lower lip trembling. "I just – I'm so tired, Simon –"

"We all are, Gin love." He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. "Ef ah could, ahd tell ye ah See you an Dragon Boy livin happily ever after with a whole lot o brats runnin underfoot, but…" He sighed and pulled away from her, and she was touched to see that his eyes were somewhat shinier than usual. "Tha's me own curse," he said. "Ahm a Seer but nae a wizard. Ah See all these things happenin ta people, an ah cannae do a thing ta protect em."

Her heart rose to her throat. "What do you See?"

Simon backed away even farther, until he had the workspace under his hands once more. "Draco will never be completely whole again," he said quietly, not meeting her eyes. "Tha doesn mean tha he'll always be the way he es now – but there's significant parts o his life tha will nae come back. He'll have ta work hard at acceptin the parts he does remember, an let go o the parts that doan return."

"Will he remember the night of the last stand at Hogwarts?"

Simon looked at her sideways. "No, see," he said, "tha's one o those questions ah cannae answer. Too much at stake with that one."

Ginny nodded. "I understand."

"Good. Now," he said, launching himself forward, "ta bed, miss. Doan want bags under yer eyes when we go ta see Dragon Boy."

Ginny smiled as he led her to the front door and fetched her bag from where it lay tossed on one of the chairs in the front room. "Draco is so lucky to have you and John," she said, as he opened the door.

"Ye'll make me blush, love," he said, leaning against the door coyly.

"But you know that, don't you?"

"We were chosen ta be with him," Simon said, shrugging. "Simple as that."

His words stayed in her mind that night and the next morning, as she started getting herself ready to go to St Mungo's. She was excited for Draco. Goyle, Crabbe, none of the Slytherins that had been a part of his gang at Hogwarts had a thing on John and Simon. It would be such a boost for him to be able to see them again, an unimaginable help for them to show him that the fight was not yet over.

They made their way to Holborn via the Underground early Sunday afternoon, decked out in full glamours, and went through the department store window into St Mungo's without incident. No one noticed them as they strode through the lobby, past people with strange ailments waiting to be treated by harried Healers, visiting families, maintenance workers keeping the floors clean, and the odd administrator seeing to some order of business. Ginny surreptitiously took out her wand and started casting the necessary spells she needed to ensure that none of them would be detected where visitors weren't allowed.

"This place gives me the heebie-jeebies," Simon said, sounding all wrong without his Scottish brogue, as they passed into the secure ward.

"Suck it up, Simone," John retorted. "Grow some bollocks.""Grow your own."

"Behave," Ginny said, though her eyes darted all over, making sure no one could see them. Her detection spells found no Healers in their immediate vicinity; Ginny sent up a prayer of thanks that Sundays weren't as busy as other days of the week. She led them to Draco's door, and John and Simon removed their glamours before following her in.

Draco was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with his hands under his head, but he started upright when she entered the room. "Ginny –" And then John and Simon came into his line of sight, and he was up off the bed in the blink of an eye and had crossed the floor to fling his arms around Simon. "My God!" he cried, laughing, as Ginny closed the door and warded the room. "You got in, you're really –" He embraced John next and that was what undid him; when Ginny turned she saw him clinging to John like a lifeline, his face crumpled. John rubbed his back in a soothing, continuous motion. "Easy now, mate," he murmured. "Easy."

Draco pushed himself away from John again, blinking furiously. "You lied to me," he said, his voice quiet but hard, looking from John to Simon and back again. "For eight years. You lied to me about _everything_."

John sighed. "Draco –"

"No, you can't pretend I'm just being dramatic about this," Draco snapped, stepping even farther away. "You had me living like a – a non-magic person, and you told me that it must be telekinesis, not magic when I was moving things without touching them –"

Simon's face had darkened. "Now look, boyo –"

"You're a wizard," Draco said, looking at John. "And you're magic too," he said to Simon. "Did it _never_ occur to you that I might want to go back to where I belonged? Did it?"

Ginny raced forward and gently pushed Draco back, away from a devastated John and a furious Simon. "Calm down," she soothed, stroking the side of his face. "It's all right. They'll explain everything you want to know."

He shook his head, still breathing hard from his outburst. "They could have saved me years of not knowing," he muttered.

"When they knew nothing themselves? Draco, they'll tell you the truth – they couldn't do anything until I found you that day in the park. I was the key in all of this."

"We want to tell you everything," John said. "You have to be patient and hear us out."

Draco looked down, reaching up to envelop both of Ginny's hands in his own, before looking over Ginny's head to meet John's gaze. "You know that patience isn't my strong suit," he said hesitantly.

Simon snorted. "Can bloody say that again," he drawled.

Draco smiled, though it was still tentative, unsure. "So much has changed since the last time I saw you two," he murmured.

"I doubt that," John said. "Reckon you still make the best Pavlova I've ever had."

"An ah reckon ah can still kick your arse at _Grand Theft Auto_," Simon added.

Draco laughed, a full-bodied laugh that warmed her to the core. "Dream on," he said. "I'm just out of practice."

At Draco's prompting, John revealed his wand by pulling it out of thin air again and conjuring two chairs for him and Simon to sit in. Draco and Ginny sat on the edge of his bed, Ginny with her arms wrapped tightly around him as though he would disappear at any moment. And they told him everything, about Simon going to Australia to find John, the prophecy, their duty to protect him. Draco sat silently absorbing it all as John and Simon took turns telling their tale, an arm around Ginny's shoulders.

When they had done, there was complete silence in the room for several long seconds. "That's why you always had such luck with the National Lottery," Draco mused at last.

John snorted with mirth, and Simon said defensively, "Oi, ah only abused the system when ah was short on cash."

"And you only became my mates because you had to do."

John and Simon exchanged a look. "When I heard the prophecy, there was nothing forcing me to fulfil it," John said evenly. "I chose to come to London and chose to protect you to the best of my ability. There was no sense of obligation involved." He leaned forward in his seat, onto his knees, and looked up at Draco in earnest. "I have never regretted my choices, and the same for Kinky. If you want to think that we're only here out of duty, well, that's up to you."

Draco nodded in silence, tightening his grip around Ginny. Then, "Forgive me for being a git?"

Simon chuckled. "Doan we always?" he said.

The afternoon drifted away as they caught up – John and Simon related innocuous tales of what was going on in their circle of friends, Draco touched on what he had experienced in the holding cells and during the amnesia treatment – and Ginny was startled when she looked down at her watch and saw that visiting hours were coming to an end. "We have to leave," she said, as Simon finished a raucous tale about visiting Julia's parents. "I wish we could stay longer –"

"I understand," Draco said, sliding off the edge of the bed. John and Simon stood as well and they all embraced again, with them muttering things to Draco that made him laugh or tear up. Once they had had their turns, Draco turned to Ginny and swept her up into his arms. "Thank you," he breathed.

Ginny grinned happily as she hugged him back. "Anything for you," she whispered. She kissed him chastely, even though John and Simon had turned their backs, and the three of them headed out of the room and restored their glamours.

"Not as bad as I thought he'd be," John commented as they made their way through one of the wards. "He's keeping his spirits up, that's excellent."

"You and Simon are a big part of that," Ginny began, when she abruptly realised that Simon was no longer with them. Frowning, she turned to look down the corridor.

But she didn't see Simon's glamours, which made him look like a tall, gangly red-haired teenager. No, he was standing there a few yards away as himself, in front of a three- or four-year-old boy. Beside the boy was a young blonde woman, speaking to a Healer.

The little boy looked exactly like Simon.

"_Shite_," John hissed. He moved forward but it was too late.

"Hallo there," Simon said to the boy, who stared up at him with dark eyes. "What's your name?"

The young woman – Ginny assumed it was the boy's mother – noticed what was going on then and took the boy's hand. "Come along," she said coldly, "we don't talk ta strangers."

Simon looked up at her. "Like hell ahm a stranger," he said, returning her icy tones.

The woman hustled her son away, ignoring him, but Simon grabbed her arm and forced her to turn. "Unhand me, or ahll call for security," she demanded. "Stay away from me and my son."

As though burned Simon released her, and she picked up the boy and raced down the hall. Simon stared at them for a moment, his eyes wide and stricken. John took his shoulder and tried to steer him away, but Simon lunged forward and screamed down the corridor, after the retreating woman, "You were nine, Ainsley! Tha's old enough ta remember!"

"We're making a scene," John said curtly, "we've got to get out of –"

"Tha's old enough!" Simon cried, his face red, struggling against John. "Like hell ahm a stranger!" Healers and patients were now staring at them in surprise and confusion. John was right; they had to get out of St Mungo's before anyone discovered where they had been.

"She knows me," Simon insisted as John and Ginny dragged him down the corridor. "She _knows _me, she does – you're a fookin liar, Ainsley!"

"We're leaving," John declared.

Then, without warning, Simon slumped to the floor between them.

"What's happening?" Ginny cried.

John had crouched beside Simon, whose eyes had turned onyx. Already Ginny felt the humming intensity in the air, the tingling sensation of ancient magic. "Kinky," John said urgently, patting his face. "Simon, come back. _Come back_."

Simon's spine arched and a deep, rasping voice unlike his own issued from his lips: "_At the place of the three rowans, on the eve of All Hallows—_"

"Come back to us," John pleaded. Ginny knelt with them. People all around were staring. Someone had gone for help.

"—_none shall succeed save the wizard from—_"

"He hasn't lost control like this in a long time," John said, his eyes meeting Ginny's. "Call his name. He needs to be brought back."

"Who was that woman?"

"His sister. Bugger, I knew this would happen as soon as I saw her –"

"—_resting in the place where land and sky meet—_"

"Simon," she said, taking his hand. "It's Ginny, come back—"

"What is going on here?" An older Healer approached them, hands on his hips as he stared them down. "Your friend is creating quite a commotion and disturbing our patients."

"Nothing else for it," John said. Before he could warn Ginny, he had grabbed them both and Apparated them away.


	37. Spot of Bother

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirty-Six – Spot of Bother**

They landed halfway up the stairs at the townhouse, awkwardly sprawled on the treads. "Sorry," John said, distracted, pulling out his wand and levitating a still-entranced Simon up to the first floor. Ginny stood and followed him as far as the door to Simon's bedroom, until John turned and saw her there. "Kinky would never forgive me if I let you see him in this state," he said apologetically. "I'll explain everything, wait for me in the front room."

Hurt at her exclusion, Ginny nodded and went back downstairs, wandering aimlessly through the foyer and into the front room, which exemplified the idea of a swinging bachelor pad. A widescreen television dominated one wall, and beneath it lay scattered controls and game systems. The furniture was comfortable, well-worn, and for the most part mismatched, as was the horribly ugly rug underneath it all, which had been the butt of many jokes. A forgotten can of Guinness sat on an end table, beside a folded-back issue of _Time Out._ A wall unit along the side opposite the entry held the only anomalies: books, and lots of them, ranging from collections of Shelley, Yeats, and Eliot to the complete works of P.G. Wodehouse. Ninety percent of them belonged to Simon the English literature fanatic, though there were a few outdated London travel guides that John must have bought when he first arrived in England, some surfboard and swimwear catalogues, as well as an entire shelf of cookbooks and tomes on foreign cuisine – Draco's shelf.

Draco's room at Malfoy Manor was a thousand miles from this place. Not even close.

"Right, there's nothing more I can do for him now."

Ginny spun and found John standing in the entryway, rubbing his palms on his trousers. He'd removed his own glamours – he'd gone to hospital as a frumpy, balding man – but the anxious look had not left his face.

"Nothing more? What –"

"You know how when we were kids, we'd have bursts of uncontrollable magic?" John said over her. "We'd get upset about something, or excited, and next thing you knew a glass had broken in the next room?"

"Sure," Ginny said slowly.

"Well – bugger," he said on a giant exhale. "I'm not an expert in this kind of thing. And Kinky refuses to talk about it, so everything I _think_ I know might be off."

Ginny sat down on the edge of the closest sofa, waiting for him to go on.

"I don't know if they offered it at Hogwarts," John began, moving into the room, "but at Cloncurry one of our subjects was Practical Theory. Essentially – the air is filled with magical current. What separates Muggles and wizards is that wizards have the ability to manipulate the current, which is what our wands are for. They're like conducting batons, I suppose. We can control the current and do the things we can because it answers to us."

"Really?" Ginny said, eyebrows raised with interest. She half-wished Hogwarts had offered such a class.

John nodded and folded his arms in front of his chest. "Then," he went on, "what separates Seers further is that wizards are only superficially connected to the magical current, with their wands. Seers have the current running _through_ them, like a – a funnel, I suppose you'd say. Because having the Sight isn't something that comes and goes. If a Seer had no control over himself, he'd just be spouting prophecies one after the other."

John paused. "That's what Kinky's doing right now. Prophesying. One after the other without stopping to take a breath."

Ginny covered her mouth with her hand, her heart in her throat. "Oh God," she breathed. "Are they –?"

"No, I was listening to him for awhile upstairs," John assured her. "People usually have the same epithets no matter how many prophecies they're involved in, and I didn't hear anything about the hollow man or any of us."

"Is Simon aware of himself?" she asked. "Does he know where he is?"

"I don't know," John said helplessly, and he threw himself onto the sofa beside her. "As I said, he doesn't talk about it ever, even though…" He huffed angrily. "And Kinky's got a worse go of it than any other Seer, because he's not a wizard. Normal Seers can use their magic to stem the current running through them, so only the really important or dire prophecies come out. Kinky – he had to wrestle with it all by himself. He can't let himself get too pissed, or he might lose his grip and enter his trance state. Can't get too worked up or he goes off." John chuckled. "His favourite story is when he started prophesying in the middle of a group of people – he was in uni then, sitting for a stressful exam. Lucky for him it was Shakespearean poetry, so no one suspected anything odd." Ginny laughed appreciatively, but the smile faded from John's lips. "He pretends it's all a great lark, but I have nightmares about him driving when he has an episode – and me not being there to help him."

"Poor Simon," Ginny breathed, her chest tight with pity.

"I knew as soon as I saw Ainsley that he would spit the dummy," John said, shaking his head. He stood again and went to the wall unit. Reaching behind a row of books, he pulled out a crumpled Wizarding photograph and wordlessly handed it to her. Ginny looked down to see five young children wearing fine dress robes, assembled in a row on a chaise lounge. They looked as though they were trying to sit still, but the youngest girl kept giggling, and the boys in the middle pushed each other. The oldest – a carefree boy with a twinkle in his eye, no older than ten or eleven – was clearly Simon.

"Graham, Logan, Ainsley, and Fiona," John recited for her benefit, pointing to each child in turn. Logan and Ainsley were both fair and blonde, but Graham and Fiona had the same dark eyes and hair as Simon. All of the children had the striking beauty typical of the old pureblood families. "We ran into Fiona…oh, three or four years ago, in Hogsmeade, when she was a fifth year at Hogwarts. Kinky approached her and she spat on him, and told all of her little Slytherin mates that he was a" – John's voice caught slightly – "a 'filthy beggar.'"

"That's barbaric, the way Squibs are treated," Ginny said, her voice shaking.

"It happens all the time," John said flatly. He stared at the picture a moment longer, then replaced it.

The house was quiet, though Ginny could hear the constant mutter above them that was Simon in his room. It seemed never to end, the stream of prophesies coming out of him.

_Spot of bother coming your way, Ginny._

"Oh God," she cried, sitting upright. "This is it."

John turned to her, eyebrows raised. "What's it?"

"The bother – Simon, he warned me—""What are you talking about? Slow down."

Ginny stood, hands in her hair. "And you used magic at St Mungo's—"

"I had to," John said, "otherwise we would have been swamped with people wanting to see an actual Seer, like he's some kind of circus freak – it's happened before."

"But they'll know that you were there, your name will come up in the records," Ginny groaned. "And Harry – oh God, Harry could figure out that you're Draco's mate, since he saw you at the pretrial—"

"I don't think so," John began, but Ginny went on anyway.

"It'll be all over," she whispered. "I just wanted to help Draco, but I've royally… oh God."

"You cast those spells, remember?" John said, moving towards her. "I watched you the whole time. They were beautifully done, hid us completely."

"My brother's a cursebreaker," she murmured.

"Exactly," John said, nodding. "One of my Cloncurry mates is as well. If anyone knows about those kinds of spells, it's cursebreakers. No one could know that we went where we did, unless they spent the energy and time trying to undo your charms. Right now all they have to go on is my magical imprint, which is insignificant."

"Your wand is registered with the Ministry," Ginny said, clasping her hands together. "They know you're a permanent resident. Merlin, John, if this got you deported—"

"I'm not connected to Draco in any way," he assured her, offering her a small smile. "For all the Ministry knows, I've lived all this time with two Muggles. I'm harmless."

Ginny's heart, pounding so hard she could scarcely catch her breath, gradually returned to its normal pace. "We did take every precaution," she said in a stronger voice, her eyes not breaking from John's. "We were careful. We planned for every situation in case we were caught."

"Not we, you," John said. "You made all the plans, we just embellished upon them and followed them."

"We're fine," she said. "Merlin. We're fine."

John grinned. "You're welcome to stay as long as you wish," he said, "though I'm afraid I won't be much fun. I'm going to go sit with Kinky again and try to bring him back. He gets terrible sore throats if he's left too long, and sick Kinky's never any fun."

"Does it help? Calling his name?"

"I like to think so," John said, looking away. "At any rate, as I said, I'm going to go play mother hen until he's back—"

"And I'm going to go," Ginny said. "I can't thank you enough for coming today. I haven't heard Draco laugh like that in far too long."

"It wasn't any trouble," John said, giving her a half-smile. "Keep doing what you're doing. Take care of him for us."

He escorted her to the door, where she hugged him goodbye and left, her heart a bit lighter than it had been. John was right; Draco really was bearing up surprisingly well considering his circumstances. And God, the way he had lit up like a Christmas tree when John and Simon walked into the room… Ginny smiled up at the sky, savouring the sunlight. He _would_ get his memories back, especially the pertinent ones, and he'd be able to tell the Wizengamot with certainty that he hadn't killed Colin.

No, it was the other charges that worried her. Ron and Katie Bell had nearly died from what Draco had so carelessly done – and he was responsible for getting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts on that horrible night Bill had been ravaged by Fenrir Greyback. The smile left her face. As Simon had said, they still had so much fighting left to do before Draco's fate was sealed.

But she was ready and willing to do it. That was the key.

Her problems began as soon as she arrived at the Ministry the following morning, meeting Percy on her way in – she was late for work yet again. Percy, instead of giving her his usual gentle teasing, shot her a rather concerned look. "Be careful about every word you say, Ginny," he said, after they had slid down the plumbing and into the fireplaces that lined the Ministry's entrance hall.

"What do you mean?" Ginny said, confused. "What's wrong?"

Percy took her by the arm as he steered her towards the lift with everyone else. "Just trust me on this," he said in a low, urgent voice, ducking his head slightly. "Speak only when spoken to, answer questions with the bare minimum of information, don't gossip at the water cooler – nothing. Just fill out your paperwork and mind your own business."

"You're scaring me, Percy," Ginny murmured.

"You _should _be scared," he said, his clear blue eyes boring into her. "You're not officially in trouble yet, but there's evidence –"

"What evidence?"

"Good, act innocent and no one will press you. St Mungo's yesterday, Ginny. The incident with the man who had a psychotic episode in the middle of a crowded ward—"

Ginny bit back the sharp retort that had come to her lips. "I had nothing to do with it," she said, her heart sinking. Bloody hell. She and John had been wrong about Harry not being able to trace them. "I don't know who he was or what was happening. I was making a surprise visit. To see… my old Hogwarts friend, Beatrice."

"Very good." Percy released her. "Stick to that story and don't change it. They wouldn't have taken Mrs Greengrass' complaint seriously in the first place, had the Healer not heard you say your name. We'll tell him he was mistaken."

Ginny frowned. "Mrs Greengrass?"

"Ainsley Kincaid Greengrass," Percy said, raising his eyebrows. "If there's a pureblood family you don't want to cross, it's the Kincaids. Militant blood purity advocates. The only reason they didn't rally with Tom Riddle is because Caoimhe Kincaid – that's the family matriarch – had a vision discouraging it. Strong believers in Divination, the lot of them."

"Worked out nicely for them, didn't it?" Ginny bit off. "What was her complaint? Mrs Greengrass'?"

"Something about letting 'non-magic riffraff' into St Mungo's," Percy said, rolling his eyes, "which probably means some poor Muggleborn was within fifty miles of her. But anyway, keep your head down, do as I said, and be careful. Promise me?"

"I promise," Ginny said. Percy squeezed her hand before they entered the lift, and they didn't speak a word to each other after that.

It felt like the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention the moment she stepped into the Auror department, for almost as soon as she had, she caught Ron's eye through the open door of his office. He stared at her a moment before shaking his head. She offered him an apologetic smile.

Ginny was so distracted by Ron that she didn't even see Harry approach her from the opposite side. "Have an exciting weekend?" he asked.

She jumped but recovered quickly. "I don't want to talk about the potion procedure," she said, moving towards her desk. "No one told us it would be so graphic, we were all horrified."

"Malfoy was brought back to the holding cells last night," Harry said casually, leaning against her desk and folding his arms across his chest. "The treatment didn't work. Still doesn't remember a thing."

Ginny schooled her face into a look of shock. "After all of that? Merlin, now what do we do?"

"But I thought you knew that already," Harry said.

"Why would I?"

"Weren't you at St Mungo's yesterday?"

"To visit my friend, Bea. She works in the permanent spell damage ward."

"If I asked her about your visit, would she know what I was talking about?"

"Of course," Ginny said, her eyebrows forming a V. "Why wouldn't she?"

Harry shrugged. "Oh, just…wondering. Malfoy's trial is Monday, I was told this morning. The Leaky Cauldron is already booked through the following weekend, and so are a lot of the wizard hotels in London. Should be quite a show."

_Don't rise to it, he's just baiting you_, she told herself. "It should be," she said noncommittally, turning to the stack of paperwork on her desk. Eventually, Harry went back to his own office, and her spine sagged slightly in relief.

The rest of the week leading up to Draco's trial was much more of the same, with Harry and sometimes Romilda asking her leading questions about what she had done that weekend. Romilda was foolish enough to even drop the name Kincaid, which immediately sent up red flags. Ginny shut down at once, replying as generically as she could, until Romilda stalked off in an annoyed huff.

The week wasn't entirely spent defensively, however. Ginny knew now what she had to do to win this case for Draco, and she went about setting up her plans as quietly as she could, without arousing any further suspicions in the department. As badly as she wanted to, she didn't go down to the holding cells to see Draco. Simon sent her a brief message via owl apologising profusely for causing her so much trouble at St Mungo's, but he wisely left off his name and signed it "your favourite Sawnie"; Ginny didn't respond to it. She wouldn't have put it past Harry to monitor her mail at home as well.

And now here she was, the Friday before Draco's trial began, watching as the leading players in the trial were set. The entire Wizengamot would hear the case, as they did every case involving suspected or convicted Death Eaters, and the solicitor representing them was announced for the benefit of the select press corps present.

"Please state your name for the record," Kingsley ordered him.

A bland, milk-faced wizard in grey robes bowed his head. "William Harper of Boston," he announced. "For _Draco Malfoy__ v __Wizarding Britain_, I shall represent the interests of the Wizarding public."

The court scribe noted this on his scroll with a flourish of his quill pen. Beside her, Lucius Malfoy snorted inelegantly, but only so she could hear. "Competent," he noted, "but a bit of an ass."

"You know him?" Ginny asked.

"He represented Britain when I was tried after the first war," Lucius said. "Let us hope he will be as unsuccessful against Draco."

Draco himself was back in the wooden seat, chained by the arms and legs. It looked like the guards were letting him bathe on a regular basis now, for his hair and face were washed and clean. She made no secret of staring at him, drinking in the sight of him like a woman dying of thirst. Ron kept nudging her in the ribs, but Ginny ignored him. There wasn't anything he could do. She was only moments away now…

Kingsley looked down at Draco. "Mr Malfoy," he intoned, "have you decided upon your defence?"

"I have," Draco replied.

"Will the defence please rise and state his or her name for the record."

On the other side of Lucius, Giles Montgomery, the Malfoy family solicitor, shifted in his seat preparing to stand. But he was not yet fully on his feet when another voice rang through the courtroom.

"Ginevra Weasley of London," Ginny said, standing to attention. "For _Draco Malfoy v Britain_, I shall represent the interests of Mr Malfoy."


	38. When a Door Closes

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirty-Seven – When a Door Closes**

In the shocked silence that followed, only Ron's flat, disbelieving "I beg your pardon?" was her answer.

Meanwhile, the Malfoy family solicitor seemed not to notice anything was amiss; he continued to his feet and said, "Giles Montgomery of – oh, I say!" He turned to Lucius in consternation. "If you did not require my services I would have appreciated being told, Mr Malfoy!"

Lucius dismissed him with a careless wave of his hand, not even deigning to look at the man. He did look, however, at Ginny, so intently that her skin positively crawled.

"Miss Weasley," Kingsley said, his dark face now even darker with anger. "If you would please approach the Wizengamot bench."

Ginny was shaking so hard her knees knocked together, but somehow, through perhaps supernatural means, she managed to get out of the observation box, down the few steps to the floor, and over in front of where Draco sat. Draco's eyes never left her. "The law states that defendants may choose whomever they wish to defend them in trial," she said tremulously, tugging on the hem of her sleeve. "There is no restriction against having—"

"Miss Weasley, I am _confounded_ as to why you continue to flaunt the rules of the Auror department," Kingsley thundered. "Just this past week, your supervisor gave me evidence that you might have unlawfully visited the prisoner in question whilst he was at St Mungo's, and now here you are claiming you will defend him in a murder trial?" Kingsley shook his head. "At best this is a serious conflict of interest, at worst… Merlin, I don't even know."

"A moment of foolhardy," the dark-eyed wizard beside him said. It was the same man she and Ron had seen after the amnesia treatment. "Miss Weasley, you do realise that you are not a trained barrister?"

"I do," Ginny replied, pursing her quivering lips.

"And that you are the Auror who found and arrested this man?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well." The wizard rearranged his robes, eyeing her in confusion. "I don't see how we can allow this, Kingsley."

"Nor I," Kingsley agreed, and a consenting murmur rippled through the rest of the Wizengamot. "Miss Weasley, you are a uniformed Auror and, as such, a representative of the Ministry. The Wizengamot hereby denies your –"

"If I may, Chief Warlock," Ginny interjected, "that is no longer an issue here." Without further ado, she removed the shiny Auror badge from her robes and tossed it to the floor. "I left my letter of resignation on Mr Potter's desk this morning, before I arrived. Consider this my notice."

Kingsley leaned back in his seat, shaking his head in wide-eyed disbelief, but before he could speak Ron's voice rang through the courtroom. "No!" he cried, standing; Ginny turned and looked up at him. "Ginny, what are you doing?"

"I'm preventing a gross miscarriage of justice," she recited, just as she had practiced all that week, loud enough for the Wizengamot and the scattered observers to all hear. "I alone know the full story of Mr Malfoy's disappearance, psychosis, and current mental state. I alone can provide him with the defence he needs and has a right to, under our laws."

"She's gone mad," Ron said, huffing angrily, to anyone who would listen. He took his seat again with a dull thud. "She's round the twist, absolutely barking—"

Ginny's heart sank, but she turned again to face the Wizengamot. Behind them, though she hadn't seen them before, were John and Simon, looking down at her with fierce determination. Noticing that she had seen them, Simon grinned. John raised his clenched fist in solidarity, and just like that she was doing the right thing. It was something about the quiet certainty they exuded, their trust, their belief in her and her abilities – she was unquestionably doing the right thing.

"I've made up my mind," Ginny announced. "No one is going to change it."

"Well, this is most irregular," another courtier said. "But I suppose – if she is no longer a Ministry employee…"

"Is this truly the witch you have chosen to defend you, Mr Malfoy?" Kingsley asked.

There was a moment's pause, and Ginny turned to look at him. Draco met her gaze, his eyes saying what he could not. "I would trust no one else with my fate," he said quietly. Ginny's heart leapt in her chest, and she struggled to not smile at him.

"Then despite my better judgment, I'm going to let this go," Kingsley said, banging his gavel. "Miss Weasley, I can only hope you know what you've gotten yourself into."

"You won't need to worry about me," she said. She spoke with far more confidence than she felt.

Once the Wizengamot had filed out of the courtroom and Draco had been removed to his cell, John and Simon clambered down the stands to see her, ploughing past the few witches and wizards who had come to see the procedure. "Well done, Ginny," John said, throwing an arm around her. "Well _done_."

"My heart's still pounding," she confessed sheepishly.

"Ah had a moment's concern there, love," Simon said. He looked oddly on edge, and kept darting his eyes around the room. "But this es et. Stay the course, an all that rot."

Ron approached them, still shaking his head in disapproval. "You've gone completely nutters," he said darkly, frowning.

"You must be Ginny's brother Ron," John said, offering his hand. "We've heard so much about you."

Ron shook his hand, though warily. "You must be Malfoy's roommates," he said, looking from John to Simon and back. "I've heard about you as well."

"Corkin, we'll have tea someday," Simon said. "Johnny?"

"We've actually got to go, we both took long lunches at work," John said smoothly, though Ginny's hackles raised at the discomfort surrounding them. "Ginny, keep in touch. We'll see you at the trial Monday?"

"All right. Take care," she said. They both bid farewell to her and Ron and left the courtroom with everyone else. Lucius Malfoy and Giles Montgomery were among the departing crowds, with the solicitor continuing to complain about being left out of the loop. Lucius' eyes met Ginny's; he nodded curtly before turning and sweeping imperiously out of the room. She had his approval. She had no idea how she had earned it, but she had. It was enough for now.

"Before you say even another word," Ginny began, when it looked like Ron was going to continue his earlier tirade, "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm going into this with my eyes wide open."

"Then you're all right with throwing away a sterling career as an Auror?" he cried, incredulous. "Ginny, you're one of the best Aurors working today – well, _were_, I suppose, but I just can't—"

"I never wanted to be an Auror," she said. "Can't you understand that? I only became one because of Harry, and a great lot of good that did me."

Ron sighed and followed a few steps behind her as they left the courtroom. "Well… I can see you're not about to change your mind," he said half-heartedly. "But I still very much disapprove of what you're doing."

"You're right about one thing. I'm not going back on my word."

"This makes me the only Auror officially on the case, I suppose," he mused.

"How do you like that?" Ginny said, turning. "None of the work and all of the glory. Lucky you."

"Ha ha, very funny," Ron said, jogging a few steps to catch up with her. "I'm not going to be involved in any of this defence business, Ginny."

"No one said you had to be. I'm taking care of it on my own."

Ron heaved a sigh again and shuffled beside her in silence, as they went up a level to the Department of Mysteries. "Can I be present when Harry finds out?" he asked finally. "I want to watch him—"

"_GINNY_"

"Ah," she said mildly, when they saw that Harry had just stepped out of the lift at the end of the corridor. "It seems you may get your chance, Ron."

Harry marched forward, a crumpled sheet of parchment clenched in one hand. "What is this?" he cried, waving the parchment in her face.

"My notice," Ginny said. "I quit."

"But – but you can't just _quit!_"

"Actually, I can," she returned coolly, folding her arms in front of her. "I'm unhappy and dissatisfied with my job. I'm going to seek employment elsewhere."

"You're helping Malfoy," Harry said, sounding horrified. He pointed a shaking, accusatory finger at her. "I knew something funny was going on between the two of you, I _knew_ it."

"What does it matter to you?" Ginny challenged. "You're no longer my boss, and no longer my partner. You should have no interest in what I do with my life. Not that you ever did before."

"Gin," Ron said sharply.

"Well," Harry said, oddly calm and still. He lowered his arm. "Then that's the way it's going to be."

"I'm glad you'll finally see reason."

"If I'm called upon to testify against Malfoy – and I probably will be – I won't go easy just because it's you."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Ginny said, though a thread of nervousness had woven its way to her heart. Harry's word was good as gold to the Wizarding world. What chance did she have against that?

_No, that's the old Ginny talking_, she told herself firmly. _He doesn't dictate my life anymore. I won't let him._

"I'll see you in court," Harry said, though his face said that he had just declared war.

"I'll see you in court," Ginny echoed. Not wanting to hang around, she excused herself to Ron and returned the way she had come.

The holding cells were back to normal now – Ginny was used to them being quiet and empty, with only the flickering torches as her companions, instead of the way it was when a trial was taking place. Normal people, the average Wizarding citizens of Britain, didn't belong down here where there was only darkness and damp, silence and solitude. This place was built to be inhabited by only a few people at a time. When she arrived at the entrance to the holding cells, she showed her Ministry ID card to the guards without thinking.

"You don't need to show us that anymore, Miss Weasley," one said. "You shouldn't, actually."

"Oh – you're quite right," she said hastily, blushing. She tore the bit of paper into pieces and shoved them into the bottom of her bag. "I'm still allowed in?"

"Of course, you being his defence and all." They opened the door and permitted her to enter.

Draco stood at the door of his cell waiting for her when she came to him, almost as though he had expected her visit. He stretched his arms out to her at once through the bars on his door and she took them and kissed them fervently, thankful that the Anti-Magic Ward had not been replaced since his hospital visit.

He seemed to read her thoughts though, for he murmured, "They're coming later tonight to replaced that spell you told me about. The one that kept you from me."

"They would," she said bitterly, kissing his hands again. She had always adored his strong, long-fingered hands, for the grace with which he moved them. He slid them away from her now, and Ginny hastily unlocked the door and darted into the room and into his arms. He was the only solid thing left, the only unshakable element in her life, but even he was showing signs of crumbling. There was a wild look in his eyes that hadn't been there a month ago, a week ago; a desperation in the way he held her that she didn't like at all.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, smiling up at him. "I just couldn't bear the thought of that solicitor defending you."

"Mind?" he said, smiling back. "Hardly. I would have given them your name in the first place had I known you were up for the job."

"But you heard what they said," she whispered. "I'm not trained. I've never done anything like this before, I don't know—"

"I have faith in you," he said, running his hands up and down her back. He bent to brush a kiss against her forehead. "You'll do fine."

Ginny buried her face in his chest again, breathing deeply. His trust in her was humbling. She wondered what she had ever done to deserve it.

"Can I make a confession?" he asked after a while.

"You can tell me anything."

"I think – I might remember something important."

She looked up, startled. "Like what?"

"I don't know. A – piece of furniture. A sort of cabinet, I think." He frowned and closed his eyes, as though the image were painted on the backs of his eyelids. "I can picture it – yes, it's a long, low cabinet with two hinged doors. And I know that it has some significance, but I don't know _why_."

"Work on that memory, like you did with the picture from your bedroom," she said urgently. "It's related to one of the charges against you, but that's all I'll say. If you can remember something more—"

"I did," he said, looking at her again almost eagerly. "I've had two new memories since I saw you last. The cabinet, and then there's something about…someone being invisible…on a train?" He ducked his head, chuckling. "That makes absolutely no sense at all."

"It makes sense to me," Ginny said, remembering how Harry had spied on Draco on the Hogwarts Express from under his Invisibility Cloak. "Just think about it. Unravel the different elements, turn them over in your head – you'll remember."

"I keep telling myself that." Draco rested his chin on her head and held her close. "I've already remembered so much since we went – well, it might not seem like a lot to you, but for me, having gone eight years without anything – it's a great deal."

"Don't give up trying to remember," she said. "That's how you can help me help you, by remembering what happened."

"Of course," he murmured, and he bent his head to kiss her, hard enough to take her breath away. "_Ti __amo_," he whispered. "_Je__t'aime_"

"I love you too, show off," she muttered against his lips. "Have a restful weekend. Get your sleep, meditate, whatever you need to do."

"And you, Gin." He released her, she thought with some reluctance, and let her go.

The late afternoon sunlight was harsh in her eyes when she left the Ministry an hour later. She held in her arms a plain box, containing the few personal items she had had at her workspace in the Auror department. It was shocking, really, how quickly she had been able to erase herself from the office where she had worked for five years. Danny O'Connell and Angelina Johnson had been sorry to see her go, and promised to owl her soon. The other Aurors only watched her pack her things with a look of something like betrayal in their eyes.

And now she was unemployed. Ginny sighed and trudged to her flat, dumping the box by her door when she entered. She stripped away her heavy scarlet robes, thankful that she would never have to wear the wretched things again, and tossed them into the laundry bin in her bedroom.

"This is where the rest of my life starts," she announced to the empty flat. She liked the way it sounded. There was so much research to be done for Draco's case, preparations to be made that she had begun during the course of the week – but she would delay them for a little while longer. For now, Ginny had an important appointment in Kenmare to make. She grabbed a light jacket and her purse and was back out the door.

The vast stadium that the Kestrels Quidditch team called home loomed above her in the sunlight as Ginny made her way towards the field. Weak cries and shouts reached her ears and, looking up, she saw almost twenty figures, robed in emerald practice robes, darting this way and that through the air on their broomsticks.

"No, left! LEFT!" A shrill whistle pierced the air. "MacNamara! Didn't you ever learn left from right?"

Ginny climbed up into the nearest stands to watch, and caught the tail end of a Chaser manoeuvre gone awry. The coach flew up to join his team and started lecturing them on the proper execution, making wild gestures with his hands in the air. Once he had done and dismissed the team from practice, the Kestrels Keeper noticed Ginny and flew closer.

"Weasley!" he cried, waving cheerfully. "All right?"

"All right, Wood," she said, coming to her feet. "I heard from Katie Bell there's an opening in your roster?"

Oliver Wood touched down on the stands in front of her, breathing heavily. "That's right," he said, nodding. "Dinsmore was in a collision last month and our reserves just haven't been up to scratch. We need some new blood."

"And I need a new job," she said, "so maybe we can work something out."

"New job?" Oliver said, surprised. "Aren't you an –?"

"Not anymore." She didn't offer to elaborate.

"Coach would definitely love to have Charlie Weasley's sister," Oliver mused, more to himself than to her. "And you're pretty good from what I've heard…"

"All I want is a tryout," Ginny said. "I don't need any guarantees about a position."

"I'll take it up with the coach," Oliver decided. "We're not playing home for another three weeks, but when we get back—"

"That's fine," Ginny said grimly. "I'm not going to have much free time in the next few weeks anyway."

"Well then," Oliver said, shaking her hand with a firm grip. "I'll see about setting something up."


	39. Battle Plans

Three Thousand Days of Innocence by cinnamon badge

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirty-Eight – Battle Plans**

Time provided a sense of distance that little else could. After meeting with Oliver in Kenmare, Ginny had spent the remainder of her Friday evening by herself, eating a lonely supper, watching an uninteresting programme on Channel Four, going to bed early when her novel failed to draw her in. And Draco was there waiting for her in her dreams, laughing and happy as he played rugby with his mates in a sunlit park. He looked down at her in that way he had, gazing at her as though there existed nothing more important in his world than her, and his gray eyes shone with desire and affection. She loved him so much she ached from it, her heart yearning to beat right out of her chest.

But now it was Saturday, and the moment she awoke with the sun in her eyes, the weight and enormity of the task before her crashed down on her like so many tidal waves. She had agreed to defend a man considered indefensible, a man hated by the Wizarding public, wanted for murder, who could no more remember if he was guilty than he could fly without a broomstick. The charges against him were so numerous, ranging from everything from murder to endangerment, that she simply had no idea where to start. Ginny did not regret for a moment agreeing to take on his case – and she certainly didn't regret quitting a job she had never liked in the first place – but she was way out of her depth and she knew it.

The answer to her prayers came soon enough. Ron had invited her to his and Hermione's house just outside Hogsmeade for lunch that day, and at noon Ginny found herself bouncing baby Hugo on her lap, as Rose played school with Hermione. She loved the quiet, homey atmosphere of the home they had created together, and her niece and nephew were always a delight.

"Now Mummy," Rose said imperiously, sounding like a younger version of her mother, "please tell me what ten times ten is."

Hermione frowned and pretended to think. "That's a tough one, Miss Weasley," she said. "I'm not quite sure."

"Mummy, it's one hundred!" Rose cried, putting her small fists on her hips. "One hundred! That's an easy one!"

Hermione and Ginny both laughed, and even Hugo gave a gurgling giggle. "Why don't I play teacher for now, Rosie?" Hermione suggested.

"But you ask hard questions, Mummy," Rose whined.

"There is no question that cannot be answered," Hermione said lightly. "And I told you how to find answers, didn't I? You have to look it up in just the right book."

It was like a Muggle light bulb had switched on in Ginny's head. Here she had been fretting about not knowing where to start with Draco's case, when the single most brilliant witch she had ever met was sitting just a few feet away from her. If Hermione couldn't help her, no one could.

Later, after Hermione had fixed lunch for Rose and Ron – who had come in from doing a spot of gardening in the back – Ginny turned to her. "Hermione—"



"Ron told me last night what you're doing," she said in a low voice. Louder, she called to Ron, "Gin and I are going to eat out on the back porch, love. Can you make sure Rosie and Hugo eat everything I gave them?" Ron, whose own mouth was full of food, simply nodded and picked up Hugo's spoon.

Ginny followed her sister-in-law out to their picnic table, and they took seats across from each other. "Ron doesn't approve, you know," Hermione began, laying a clean napkin in her lap. "He thinks you're throwing away your life and career."

"I know," Ginny said darkly, cutting into the shepherd's pie Hermione had made. "He made that quite clear yesterday."

"He only wants what's best for you." There was silence a few moments as they dug into their meals. "What are you going to do now?" Hermione asked. "Have you any job prospects?"

Ginny explained about setting up a tryout with the Kenmare Kestrels, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. "I honestly don't think I'll make the team," she admitted, "since the Kestrels play a much more aggressive game than I'm used to. But getting this tryout means I might be able to get tryouts with other teams. I know the Wanderers and the Harpies both have openings as well."

"That's good to hear," Hermione said sincerely. "I hope you find something."

They were quiet again, and from the kitchen they heard Rose asking Ron more maths questions. "You know you're in over your head with this, don't you?" Hermione asked. "Defending a suspected Death Eater, when you're not even a solicitor?"

Ginny toyed with her fork. "I don't have any delusions of him being completely innocent," she said in a soft voice. "If that's what you're asking."

"It isn't."

"I know very well that Draco could have done everything he's accused of –" Her breath hitched, and she had to stop and swallow before continuing. "And I know that despite everything I do, he might end up in Azkaban for the rest of his life anyway. But – I can't let that happen without at least _fighting_ for him." She looked up and met Hermione's eyes squarely. "No one else is willing to do. I'm all he has in the world."

Hermione reached across the table and took Ginny's hand, squeezing it. "You have a long journey ahead of you," she said. "Trials are tedious and exhausting processes."

"I know, and I don't care," Ginny said, shaking her head. "I have to do this. For him."

The other witch smiled fleetingly and looked through the kitchen window to her family. Ron had charmed Rose's spoon to fly around like a broomstick, and Rose laughed and opened her mouth wide as it flew close. Ron grinned and stroked her wavy hair as she chewed on her food.

"Ron told me that Malfoy is different now," Hermione began.

"He is. You wouldn't even recognise him."



"I suppose the war changed all of us – some more than others," she said thoughtfully, looking down at her plate. "Ron's been telling me all about the case, where Malfoy's been, the dissociative fugue. I've done a bit of reading up on Muggle psychology, and what happened to him sounds devastating."

"Then will you help me?" Ginny said. "I'm not asking you to come to the stand with us and sit next to him, but if you could even just get me started in the right direction—"

"Of course I will, Ginny," Hermione said. "And since I know the trial begins Monday, maybe I can get Ron to watch the children and we could go to the library this afternoon."

Ginny could scarcely hold back her grin. "Thank you _so_ much," she said, "you have no idea what a help you'll be to me. To us."

"Finish your shepherd's pie, then," Hermione said, blushing slightly. "We're going to be in the library for quite awhile today."

It seemed as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Ginny hastily ate the rest of her lunch and told Hermione that she would meet her on the library steps, since she needed to stop by her flat to pick up Draco's case file. Hermione agreed, and Ginny Apparated to the point near her building and dashed up the stairs and inside.

She knew something was off the moment she touched her front door, but she was already five steps ahead to her library date with Hermione and she acted too quickly to stop and take stock. So it was with almost complete surprise that Ginny unlocked her door, threw it open, and found Lucius Malfoy standing in her parlour.

Ginny had her wand out in an instant, the deadliest hex she knew on her lips, and she entered a defensive stance. Lucius, on his part, hadn't batted an eye.

"Close the door," he said evenly, raising an eyebrow at her as though she were a pesky child. "I don't want to alert the Muggles."

"You'll tell me what you want or the Secrecy Statute can be damned," Ginny hissed.

Lucius frowned and waved his wand; Ginny tensed, but relaxed – slightly – when she saw he was merely closing the door and not cursing her. "You know very well I'm not going to attack you," he said, sniffing delicately. "I know you do."

He had a point. Ever since the war, no matter how he had been cleared of his charges, Lucius Malfoy had been as compliant and law-abiding a Wizarding citizen as anyone else. To ruin that pristine record would only hurt his son's chances of being exonerated, and Ginny knew in her heart that Lucius would never do anything to harm his own child.

Slowly, very slowly, Ginny lowered her wand and straightened again. "Talk," she said. "I don't have a great deal of time. And someone is waiting for me," she added for good measure.

Lucius' mouth twisted in distaste as he moved to sit in one of her chairs; finding it somehow unsuitable, he remained standing. "I will not pretend that relations betwixt our families have been…cordial, since the end of the war," he began. "Nothing has changed. We are no more friends than your family is wealthy."



Ginny ignored the dig at her parents' poverty. "Your point?"

"My point is that though I approve of you representing my son in his trial" – the words seemed difficult for him to say – "I need some guarantee that you have his best interests in mind." Lucius sneered at her, the look eerily reminiscent of Draco's similar features. "How do I know you are not simply going to hand him over to the Azkaban guards?"

"Why do you approve of me?" Ginny asked instead.

Lucius frowned. "Draco trusts you," he said with a sniff. "And I am not blind. I have seen the way that he… looks at you."

A shudder ran down the length of her spine. This was one of the things she had feared most of all, that Lucius would discover the depth of her feelings for Draco, or his for her. "He loves me," she said boldly. "And I love him. Does that bother you?"

"What does it matter?" Lucius spat, clearly showing that it did. "I can change nothing. And I care for nothing else save that he never sees the inside of Azkaban."

"That's my priority as well," she said. "You have my word that I will do everything within my power to see that he is free."

Lucius nodded curtly and twitched his robes. "Then we shall discuss the matter of compensation," he went on. "I am prepared to—"

"I don't want any money."

He raised one elegant eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"I won't ask you for anything," she said. "I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing it for him."

"Whatever your motivation – fine, so be it." Lucius stalked towards the door, but he turned and looked at her one last time. "It is an offer I shall only make once," he warned.

"Then I'll only reject it once," Ginny said firmly.

Lucius nodded again. "Until Monday." He opened the door and had Disapparated away before it shut behind him.

Ginny met Hermione on the library stairs some twenty minutes later, Draco's case file in hand. "Sorry, I had a message whilst I was out," she said, not offering to elaborate. Hermione smiled and led her into the library foyer.

Ginny was ashamed to admit that she had never been to the Agrippa von Nettesheim Library in Diagon Alley. The foyer positively oozed grandeur and intellectualism from its every corner: they crossed a marble floor tiled in white and black squares, past black columns that supported an arched ceiling. Above them, at the apex, hung a magnificent chandelier that stole Ginny's breath. Ahead of them, another slab of black marble served as the circulation desk, where several witches and wizards were busy cataloguing books and checking them out for a short line of patrons.



Not unsurprisingly, Hermione was familiar and on a first-name basis with one of the young librarians at the desk. "We'll need a private room, if it's not too much trouble," Hermione explained, once they had gone through pleasantries.

"Not at all," the librarian said cheerfully. He plucked a tarnished key from under the desk and led them out of the foyer and into the library proper. Massive shelves, stretching clear to the ceiling and as far as Ginny could see, marched on in endless rows before them. Ginny gulped, abruptly relieved that she had Hermione's help navigating such an imposing place.

The room the librarian led them to was small, not much larger than a closet, and one of many lining the walls. Only a table and a few chairs were within. "Perfect," Hermione said happily, in her element. The librarian bid them good luck and left them to their work.

"Now," she began, as soon as she had cast a few wards around the room. "We'll start from the beginning. What are the charges against Malfoy? We'll focus on them in order of severity."

"You know the first one," Ginny murmured. "Colin's murder."

Hermione's pleased smile sank from her face. "Oh," she said. "That's right." She worried her bottom lip a moment before collecting herself again. "The evidence against him is two eyewitness accounts, correct? That means that they'll likely have the memories projected with a Visual-Eyes for the Wizengamot to watch in the courtroom. But Malfoy himself doesn't remember if he did it or not?"

"The only memory he's gotten back concerning the charges is of the Vanishing Cabinet," Ginny said, "and he doesn't even know _why_ it's important, just that it means something."

"Yes, this will be quite difficult," Hermione mused, sounding not at all discouraged. "I'm afraid that charge might be indefensible, unless you can prove that the eyewitnesses are unreliable or falsified their memories. Let's start there. I think I might know of a few cases that would make good precedents…"

For the next several hours – or days, perhaps; Ginny lost all sense of time within their windowless research room – she and Hermione poured over old Wizengamot decisions, some dating back centuries. Hermione had soon filled three full scrolls with notes in her careful, tiny handwriting, with book titles and page numbers for easy referencing. She thought of details that Ginny might have forgotten, such as what wand Draco had been using the night of the last stand against Tom Riddle.

"I know Harry had Malfoy's," Hermione muttered. "It was the hawthorn one, yes? Harry still has it, I believe, tucked away somewhere."

Ginny looked at her helplessly. "I don't—"

"But Malfoy definitely had a wand that night," she said over her. "He said it was – oh! His mother's. Where would that wand be now, since Narcissa is dead?"

"Lucius would have it, I reckon," Ginny said. She made a note for herself to ask him for it. "We can do Prior Incantato, to see if it cast the Killing Curse."

Hermione grinned at her. "Now you're thinking like a solicitor," she said proudly.



Methodically, one by one, they worked through each of the ten charges against Draco, only one of which had an easy solution. "The Ministry explicitly defines Death Eaters as those who took the Dark Mark from Tom Riddle," Hermione said. "They have enough knowledge about how the Death Eaters functioned to know that there were some people who helped them who never joined the ranks."

"And Draco doesn't have the Mark," Ginny finished. "I've seen his arm myself. That one is gone."

"I think the fact that will really be in your favour is that Malfoy did most of these things before he turned seventeen," Hermione said thoughtfully, "since all but Colin's murder and Padma's assault occurred during our sixth year. But that might mean that Lucius will be blamed for his son's crimes instead."

"If it gets Draco exonerated, then I don't care," Ginny declared.

When they reached the next charge on the list, _the attempted murder of Ronald Weasley_, Hermione paused. Ginny saw what had made her stop and cursed silently. "I'll handle that one," she said quickly, pulling a stack of books towards her, "you don't have to—"

"I can't believe I forgot about that," Hermione whispered, her eyes wide. She stared blankly at the wall of their room. "He nearly died that day."

Ginny swallowed, hard, and ducked her head. It had been a scary day for all of them. She remembered the sight of Ron, pale as death, breathing laboriously in his bed in the Hospital Wing. She had never been so scared in her life. The man she loved had done that to him. "He's different," she insisted. "Draco wouldn't hurt a soul, he's changed, Hermione. He's _good_, and he has mates who love him dearly and would do anything for him, and he for them—"

"Of course," Hermione said, a little shakily. She chuckled and touched her hair. "I know that. I just…I believe you. I read the stories in the _Prophet_ –" She frowned in thought, but then sighed a moment later. "It's a shame his mates aren't wizards," she said, "because they would work excellently as character witnesses…"

She stopped when she saw the look on Ginny's face. "Really?" she said, grinning. "Is one a wizard? Why didn't you say anything earlier!"

"Because he's Australian," Ginny said. "Permanent resident. Not a British citizen."

Hermione sagged in her seat. "Oh well. It was an idea."

"His other roommate is a Kincaid."

Ginny had never seen Hermione jump so quickly, nor express such sudden, profound shock. "The other is a _what_?" she cried, eyes bulging. "Merlin, Ginny, that's the case right there! The Wizengamot would believe a Kincaid in a moment! But – well, Logan and Graham don't live in Muggle London – unless it's one of the extended family? In which case –"

"It's Simon," Ginny said.

Hermione frowned. "No such person," she said at once. "I've read about them, I know Hiram and Caoimhe have two sons and two daughters, and Hiram's three brothers have one son each…"



Ginny's heart lurched, but she explained the story of Simon's disownment to Hermione in a steady tone. "He told me he's willing to take the stand," she finished. "He knows what he's up against."

"A Squib Seer," Hermione said in awe. "Merlin – I wonder how he handles it? I'd love to…" She twisted her fingers together. "Never mind. Right. He'll be invaluable to you, Ginny. Squib or not, he's a Kincaid, his name is gold by itself. Will you be able to coach him on answering questions?"

"He likely already knows what I'd tell him," Ginny joked, and they both laughed.

"I didn't even anticipate that development," Hermione said, eyes shining. "Ginny, you have a character witness. This is looking better, I have a good feeling about this."

She grinned. They continued on with their work, Ginny more enthusiastic than ever.


	40. The Beginning

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Thirty-Nine – The Beginning**

Ginny did not sleep at all the night before Draco's trial. Not a wink. She lay in bed for hours in futility, staring up at her ceiling, her heart beating a frantic tattoo against her ribs like a caged bird struggling to get free. All night images flickered through her mind, of the Wizengamot laughing at her, of Ron shaking his head in embarrassment, of two faceless guards pulling Draco away from her forever. She inhaled sharply to keep her tears back. She would not think of it. She couldn't.

When the first rays of dawn peeked through her curtains and she at last had an excuse to be out of bed, Ginny rose and drafted a short letter to Simon and John, informing them of the time and the courtroom reserved for the trial. She warned Simon to be ready to take the stand, as well as to heed the advice he knew she would have given him. _Thank you both so much for your support_, she wrote in closing. _You've been invaluable in every way, and I'll never forget that._

She tried to avoid thinking that her words sounded like Draco's fate had already been decided.

Ginny dressed in her best robes, a navy blue set her mother had bought her for some Ministry function a few years ago, and made sure her hair was, for once, in some sort of control. Then, picking up the bulging portfolio that contained her notes and arguments for the case, Ginny took a deep breath and set off for the Ministry.

Though she was far earlier than she needed to be, Percy was already there at the bright red phone booth, tapping his foot and checking his watch, when she reached the visitors' entrance. "There you are," he said on seeing her. Before she could say a word, he had pulled her into his arms for a crushing hug.

"Perce?" she said, her voice sounding separate from her body. "What's come over you?"

Percy blushed slightly, and smoothed down his hair in a nervous tic. "I brought you breakfast," he blurted out. He reached into his robes and removed a brown paper bag.

Her stomach turned over at the sight. She had tried to eat at her flat, but hadn't been able. "Percy, I –"

"You need to eat something," he insisted, and he pulled out two pieces of toast with Nutella and a fresh red apple. How he'd remembered her favourite breakfast was beyond her, but Ginny was incredibly touched by the obvious effort he had gone to. "I know you probably feel like you can't eat a thing right now, but you'll regret it later if you don't," he continued primly. "Eat. I'm not afraid to use force."

"Yes, Mum," Ginny said, rolling her eyes, and they both chuckled – but the sound was stilted somehow, forced and unnatural. She quickly swallowed the food, but she didn't taste any of it.

"I won't be able to attend the opening arguments today," Percy said, as she wiped her mouth on the serviette he had also thoughtfully brought. "I tried and just couldn't swing it, but I'll be there tomorrow. I made Ron promise to stay as long as he could, and Mum and George are coming as well."

"Wait – _what_?" she spluttered.

"Charlie wrote that he'll be thinking of you," Percy went on, as though she hadn't spoken. "He doesn't understand why you're defending a Malfoy, not even when I explained everything, but he says that won't stop him from wishing you the very best of luck. Hermione sent the children to her parents and will pop in when she can. Bill is coming with Victoire, but the other children are sick so Fleur is at home with them. Dad had trouble getting time off too, so he won't be there but he's coming tomorrow like me."

Her mouth had fallen open at some point. He had done all of this for her. He had overcome his dislike for Draco to invite their _entire_ family to the trial – to watch her possibly make a fool of herself in front of the whole Wizarding world, yes, but they would all be behind her, and that made all of the difference in the world.

"Percy," she breathed. "Perce, I – I can't possibly tell you – how much –"

"Well," he said, coughing uncomfortably. "I did my best. I knew Charlie couldn't make it, but I thought I'd try. And I know that Fred is with you in spirit."

That was what broke her heart. Ginny flung herself back into Percy's arms and hugged him as tightly as she could. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, thank you. I made sure Draco's friends would come, but – I didn't even think –"

"You know that we support each other no matter what," he said hollowly. "That's what family does."

Ginny pulled away from him and kissed his cheek. "Yes," she said. "That _is_ what family does."

Percy smiled sadly down at her. "You'd best see Malfoy now," he said. "They'll let you in to prep him for the trial, and I reckon you should take advantage of that."

She nodded and brushed a few crumbs off of her robes. "Perce—"

"I know, Gin," he said. "Go."

She was descending in the phone booth before she knew it, with the Ministry entrance becoming larger and brighter beneath her feet by the second. Her silver visitor's badge glinted as she flashed it at the security wizard, who let her pass with a curious wave of his hand, and at the two guards who stood watch over the holding cells below the Department of Mysteries.

"You'll see the accused in an interview room," the guards told her. "You will both stay there until the trial is about to begin, when you'll be escorted into the courtroom."

Ginny nodded to show that she understood, then followed one of the guards down a side corridor to a spare, harshly lit box of a room with hideously tiled floor and walls. Not five minutes after she had set down her portfolio and started pacing, the door opened and Draco was let in.

"You've got two hours," the guard said, "and then someone will come for you," but Ginny barely heard him. The moment he had entered her range of vision Draco became the focus of her entire being, and she watched wordlessly as he was forced onto the plain wooden chair on the other side of the table, and had his hands and feet bound to it with strong charms.

Then the guard left, and it was just the two of them.

The silence in the room seemed to press in on her from all sides, crushing in its totality. For the first time in weeks, they were well and truly alone. "Did you get something to eat?" Ginny whispered, remembering Percy's advice.

Draco's back was bent, and his head nearly touched the tabletop. "I was still asleep when they came in," he half-moaned, fighting weakly against his bonds. "I'm not even…" He shrugged his shoulders, and she noticed then what she hadn't earlier. He was dressed, but only just: his shirt was unbuttoned, hanging open on his chest, and his belt and trousers weren't even done up.

"They can't let you go out like this!" Ginny cried, her eyes wide in horror. "Don't let it get to you. They're only trying to push you as low as they can, trying to scare us into submission before the court."

"Well, it's working," Draco said, sniffling. "I couldn't sleep at all last night, or the night before, because I just kept thinking about going to prison for the rest of my life—"

"You won't," Ginny insisted, leaning towards him. Her eyes darted all over the room as she spoke. How closely were they being watched right now? "I know I'm no solicitor, but I swear to you—"

"Doesn't matter," Draco said, at last raising his face. His eyes were rimmed in red, and tears dried on his cheeks. "Doesn't matter who defends me. They've already made their decision."

"That's not true."

"I'm scared, Ginny," he said, his face crumpling. "I'm absolutely terrified. I don't want to be locked away forever."

"Ministry be damned," she muttered, and standing, she pointed her wand at Draco. He shrank in his seat as she said the required spell, and with a crackle like electricity, the binding spells on his arms and legs dissipated into nothing. The guard had neglected to place Tracking Charms on the bindings. In wonder, Draco stared at his freed hands.

"What did you just do?" he asked, wide-eyed.

Quickly, her fingers shaking, she did up the buttons on his shirt and belted his trousers. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder as she finished, breathing hard. His hands went around her waist.

"God, for a moment I thought you would kill me," he said. "Put me out of my misery."

She threaded her fingers through his long hair and held him close. "Don't you trust me?"

"Unquestionably," he replied at once. His voice was muffled in her robes.

"Then you need to trust that I will save you," she said. "Don't let on how scared you are. Sit tall and straight in your chair, no matter how they bind you. Look them all in the eye. Let me do the talking, and I swear to you, Draco, I _will_ save you." She pressed a fervent kiss into his hair.

She pulled away and looked down into his beautiful eyes, now haunted and hollow. Tenderly, she wiped his tears with her fingertips, smoothing away his distress and soothing him in the only way she could think of, hoping it was enough. He closed his eyes under her ministrations, and released a great sigh.

"Trust me, Draco," she breathed. "As long as I'm able, I'm going to fight for you."

He swallowed unsteadily and leaned into her again, until his cheek was pressed against hers. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he whispered, "but I'm glad I did."

Ginny gingerly seated herself in Draco's lap, still holding him. He reacted at once, pulling her as close as he could and cradling her body against the broad expanse of his chest. "I hate not knowing," he said, she thought perhaps more to himself than to her. "The uncertainty. I want to _know _what'll happen next."

"You'll go free," Ginny said, cupping his cheek. "That's what will happen next."

He took her hand and kissed the centre of her palm, then tilted his head to kiss her lips. He was hesitant at first, as though reacquainting himself with her mouth and her taste, but gradually he became more forceful, more demanding, and his arms locked around her in a vicelike grip. Ginny groaned as all the anxieties and fears of the past three days seemed to sink away, momentarily unimportant. She raked her nails lightly through his hair, and his response was to deepen the kiss even further.

With his help, she shifted so that she straddled him on his plain wooden chair. His fingers deftly undid the numerous buttons on her robes, which he then peeled off of her shoulders with tender kisses to the newly exposed skin. The robes landed in a pile on the floor.

Under her dress robes Ginny wore what most witches had underneath: a matching linen shift that hugged her body's curves until it flared away at the hips. Draco eyed the shift with something bordering on hunger, and Ginny licked her lips at the desire smouldering there. Slowly, he slid his hands under the shift and up her bare legs, but he watched intently as Ginny reached up and undid the top buttons, exposing her breasts.

"Bloody fuck," he muttered, before burying his face between them. And it was as though what control he possessed had snapped in that instant – his fingers bruised her freckled flesh, shooting up between her legs past her panties to her already wet folds and seeking hasty entrance; Ginny uttered a soft cry at the intrusion. With nerveless fingers she undid the belt and trouser fastenings she had so recently done up, and with him guiding her she moved into position. He pushed inside her in one jerky movement.

Ginny gasped aloud at feeling him again, after far too long. Draco wouldn't let her savour the feeling long, for barely a moment passed before he had gripped her hips and showed her how to move up and down against him, their bodies creating a delicious friction between them. "Draco," she breathed in his ear, "oh sweet Merlin, oh God…"

"Don't stop now," he ground out. "Don't stop."

She continued to move against him, but again, she moved too slowly for him. Without warning, Draco had slid his hands under her bottom and stood up, kicking away the chair, and then she was atop the table with the wood grain rough against her skin. He gripped the opposite end of the table for leverage and began to drive into her relentlessly, tension and lust making the lines of his body taut and hard. It was all Ginny could do to simply hang on, and allow herself to be carried away by the strong current that threatened to pull her under.

It was nothing like the first time they had made love. He had been gentle, tender, showing her just how much she meant to him and the depth of his affection, and he had taken her so high she felt as though she had never fully returned to earth. This, though, this feverish coupling in a dank, musty cellar room, was desperation and nothing else. She tried to push that from her mind and just live in this moment; her last, perhaps, with him alone like this. She catalogued how he smelled, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the pale smoothness of his skin, the softness of his lips, and filed away the data in the recesses of her memory.

Their climax was cathartic, therapeutic – not enough.

By the time a guard came to fetch them, Draco was bound once more to his chair, and Ginny sat primly on the opposite side of the table from him, looking over her case notes. It was a different guard-wizard than the last one, so he didn't notice that Draco's initially unkempt appearance had been mysteriously straightened out, nor that Ginny's robes appeared slightly dishevelled.

"They're ready for you," the guard said. Ginny nodded once, and flicked her eyes towards Draco, who hadn't spoken a word in over an hour. Draco nodded silently, and the guard proceeded to unbind him.

The hum of a distant audience was instantly audible as soon as they stepped out of the interview room. The air throbbed with an energy that made Ginny's hair stand on end, and even Draco seemed to shudder slightly. Untroubled, the guard led Draco at wandpoint out of the holding cells and up to the level of the Department of Mysteries; another turn down a wider corridor led to the courtrooms, and the noise level rose slowly.

Two Aurors in uniform blocked their way into the courtroom, and they were none other than Angelina and the novice Nigel Bertram. Angelina smiled thinly at Ginny and darted an apprehensive glance at Draco, who ignored her. Nigel only stared at the Wizarding world's most famous criminal in open wonder.

Inside, though the doors were closed, Ginny could hear Kingsley's deep baritone calling the hearing to order. The buzz of conversation died down at once. Ginny shifted nervously, and noticed that her clammy hand was wrinkling the pages in her file. Irritated, she shifted it to her other hand.

"Just another moment now," Angelina said softly. Ginny couldn't look at her.

Kingsley called roll, and all of the members of the Wizengamot gave their names to the court scribe.

Draco sniffed, and shook his hair out of his eyes. He straightened, lifting his chin slightly, and stared straight ahead.

Kingsley announced the day's schedule, using all of the same tired and ceremonial words Ginny had heard a thousand times before. Time seemed to be flowing slower than normal, half its usual speed.

"Here we go," the guard said, and then Kingsley had called, "Bring in the accused," and Nigel and Angelina flung the courtroom doors open wide.

It was like entering the pitch for a Quidditch match. There was sound everywhere, cameras, crowds, bombarding Ginny on all sides loud enough to make her go temporarily deaf. Draco, who had faced them before, simply focused on his destination and ignored the attention, but Ginny couldn't keep herself from staring in horror. Witches hissing, wizards standing in their seats and shouting, press cameras flashing. It was a bloody circus.

And in the midst of it all, one calm spot. Ginny found them almost immediately, seated just to the left of the Wizengamot box. John, with Simon, their eyes never leaving Draco as he crossed to his lonely chair. John caught Ginny's eye and gave her a grim smile.

And a few rows behind him – Lucius Malfoy, all in black, still in mourning for his wife. He, too, never looked away from his son.

William Harper, the solicitor for the plaintiff, was already present at his own long table, a small corps of assistants at his side. He had risen for Draco's entrance. Ginny made her way to the table designated for her and stood there alone, while Draco was helped into his chair, placed between the two tables, and bound by chains at the wrists and ankles. This time, he didn't jump. He scarcely batted an eye.

Kingsley banged his gavel numerous times until the crowds quieted into an uneasy, relative silence. "As already stated," he said, his voice filling the vast room, "we are here for the opening arguments in the case of _Draco Malfoy v Wizarding Britain_. If there is no objection, we will begin with the plaintiff's beginning statement."

"I thank you, Chief Warlock Shacklebolt," William Harper said pompously, bowing to the Wizengamot. He came out from behind his table to stand alone before the court, and Ginny looked down at her papers. Her quill? Frowning, she reached into her robes and pulled on out, then settled to take notes. Hermione had warned her that Harper would not go easy on her just because she wasn't a real solicitor; he would go in for the kill from the start and not let up once.

"Ladies and gentlemen, members of the Wizengamot," Harper began, in a mellifluous voice, "you all well know what the Second War Against Tom Riddle did to our community. Families, torn apart. Friends, doubting and betraying each other. Death, fear, torture. These were dark times for our kind, ladies and gentlemen, dark times indeed. But once the brave, courageous Harry Potter brought an end to our suffering—" here, the crowds raised a hearty cheer "—we rebounded in the only way we knew how. We ensured that such a terrible thing would never happen again.

"Since that time, the Ministry's Auror Department has worked tirelessly to restore order in our world," Harper went on. "They have detained and imprisoned the criminals from the Second War, and we breathe easier and sleep better at night knowing that these dangerous people are behind bars – where they belong."

Several people shouted out angrily in agreement. Simon glared murderously at one in particular who was rather vocal, but Ginny saw John put a steadying hand on his back. Harper waited until the furore had died down again. "Ladies and gentlemen, as I said, the Aurors have worked ceaselessly to capture all of those who threatened the peace during the war, and they have been imminently successful. Here before you, you see the very last of the Death Eaters: Draco Malfoy. With his sentencing and imprisonment, the last of these vile criminals will be put away, and the great evil that was done to us will at last have been rectified.

"There are those that would say, but this man was a mere child at the time of the Second War. How can he be held responsible for such wicked crimes? Ladies and gentlemen, members of the court, he may have only just attained his majority when he did these things, but he was more than old enough to know that what he was doing was singularly wrong. We are taught the difference between good and evil from the cradle, are we not? Draco Malfoy was sixteen years old when he held the esteemed Albus Dumbledore at wandpoint, prepared to kill him. And Draco Malfoy was eighteen years old when he did kill Colin Creevey – a lad just one year younger than himself.

"There are those that would say, but eight years have come and gone. The war is old news, we as a community have moved on. Ladies and gentlemen, time may dull our memories, but it does not take them away. We all can remember where we were when we learned that Rufus Scrimgeour, may he rest in peace, had been killed inside the Ministry itself. We all can remember where we were when we received the call to arms, to go to Hogwarts for the last stand. And we all know where we were when we learned that our friend, our spouse, our child, had died fighting the good fight. These people that we lost are not coming back. There are families that will never be whole again. No crime can go unpunished.

"And there are those that would say, but Draco Malfoy claims he has had amnesia. Can you be held responsible for a crime you do not remember committing? The answer is yes, ladies and gentlemen. No matter his current state, Draco Malfoy was of sound mind and reasoning when he attempted to kill Katie Bell and Ron Weasley, and when he attacked Padma Patil. No matter what excuses he and his defence may make, he can and _must_ be held responsible for what he has done to us. There is no other option available to him.

"Over the next few days, I will present the total sum of Draco Malfoy's crimes and misdemeanours, and I will prove, beyond doubt, that this man deserves to be locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his life."

Harper bowed again to signal the end of his speech, and he was greeted with thunderous applause.


	41. The Ties That Bind

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Forty – The Ties That Bind**

With a show like the one Harper had put on for the crowds, pandering to their desire for drama and spectacle, Ginny knew she was hard pressed to match him. Nevertheless, she calmly stood when Harper returned to his seat, inclined her head to acknowledge his opening statement, and took up the position he had recently occupied, alone in front of the Wizengamot. Only her trembling hands, which she hid in the folds of her robes, betrayed her extreme nervousness.

"Ladies and gentlemen, members of the Wizengamot," she began. Her voice sounded weak to her ears, so she cleared her throat and tried again. From the corner of her eye, she saw John give her an encouraging nod. "The duty of this court since time immemorial has been to give those accused of crimes, no matter how heinous, a fair and balanced trial," Ginny said. Her voice resonated in her very bones, rang through the courtroom up to the highest stands. She could do this. "I am appalled and saddened to see that my defendant will not be granted the same right in this case."

Her words stirred the Wizengamot – as Hermione had said they would. It was thanks to her wonderful, amazing sister-in-law, after all, that Ginny had found the obscure old ruling that was exactly what she needed. "That is a bold claim, Counsellor Weasley," Kingsley said thoughtfully. "Elaborate, if you will."

"It doesn't matter what my defendant has done or not done in the past – he is still a wizard, isn't he? He is still protected by the rights that cover the rest of us, isn't he?"

"He is," the dark-eyed wizard to Kingsley's left said.

"The only way, then, for my defendant to receive such a trial is to have one free of public bias," Ginny said. "I request that Draco Malfoy's trial be closed to the public save those viewers specifically approved of by the Wizengamot."

The result of this request was, of course, utter chaos, as Ginny had expected. The viewers present roared in indignant protest, standing up in their seats. Simon punched the air and crowed excitedly. Ginny spoke over the crowd, her voice carrying. "Thanks to the Wizarding media, this case has been blown spectacularly out of proportion," she cried. "Each time my defendant appears, they become unstable and disruptive to the legal process. You yourself can see that, Chief Warlock. Not only that, they are solidly, one hundred percent convinced of my defendant's guilt, a thing which has not even been substantially proven in this court. According to a ruling from _Patterson v the Tutshill Tornadoes_, if the Wizengamot cannot conduct a proper trial in the public eye, they have the right to dismiss said public from the courtroom."

Kingsley, perhaps despite himself, looked impressed. Less so were the eponymous public.

"She's right, Shacklebolt," said one Wizengamot witch in disbelief.

"Thank Merlin," Kingsley said. With a resounding bang of his gavel, he proclaimed, "From this point onward, I now enact the Patterson rule. Anyone who is not related to a solicitor or the defendant, or has some relevance to the case, is hereby dismissed."

Ginny had to try her hardest not to do a little victory dance as she strode back to her seat. She met Draco's gaze once, briefly, to find that he was just as motionless and stolid as ever. But she caught the faint twitch 

of amusement in his lips, and the barest wrinkling of the corners of his eyes. He was pleased, and nearly as relieved as she was.

The trial came to a full stop for almost twenty minutes as everyone grudgingly filtered out of the massive courtroom, leaving behind an exclusive group. Lucius Malfoy didn't budge an inch, nor did, Ginny saw now, Ron and Hermione. Bill, who had been farther up in the stands, was now carrying Victoire to a closer seat, murmuring in her ear as he did. Molly and George were moving closer to Ron and Hermione, and John and Simon had offered their hands in greeting to them all. The few Ginny didn't recognise she assumed to be Harper's people.

"I'd like to take this moment to thank you, Counsellor Weasley," Kingsley said, eyes twinkling, once Angelina and Nigel had shut the doors behind the last stragglers. Mutters of agreement ran through the Wizengamot. "Merlin, but were they getting on my nerves. I trust the conditions are more favourable to the plaintiff as well?"

"Quite," Harper said stiffly. Ginny bit back a grin. Clearly, he had been hoping to capitalise on the public's mania, but still, he was dangerous. This was no excuse to let her guard down.

"If you would then proceed with your opening statement, Counsellor," Kingsley said, nodding to her.

Ginny took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said formally. "As I said before, this trial was in danger of becoming too heavily influenced by outside sources, namely the media. I am just as glad as you that they are gone. But I am sorry and not surprised that the plaintiff is one of those who has fallen victim to the conjecture and hearsay that has been running rampant through the Wizarding world's gossip channels. He believes, and will try to make you believe, certain things about my defendant that are simply untrue.

"The plaintiff will have you believe that my defendant is cut from the same cloth as others amongst Tom Riddle's followers, that he did whole-heartedly commit atrocious acts and instil fear in innocent people merely because it entertained him. I will prove to you beyond a doubt that this is not the case. My defendant was forced into doing something he did not want to do, under penalty of watching his parents die before his eyes. What acts he committed were done under extreme duress, while he was still a minor. He cannot be judged in the same regard as what you assume to be his peers.

"Not only that, but most importantly, the plaintiff believes that my defendant is or was a Death Eater. I can assure you, and I will prove to you, that he is not. Mr Harper has said that it is the Wizengamot's duty to ensure that we do not see a repeat of the Second War Against Tom Riddle, and you will find no one who agrees with him more than myself. But the purpose of a jail sentence is not only to protect the Wizarding people, but to punish the offender, that he may never again do any evil act against others. My defendant is not a threat to anyone. Whatever he might have been eight years ago, today he is a law-abiding citizen who wants nothing more than to be a productive member of society. You will find him not able to even stomach the idea of repeating the crimes he has been accused of.

"And you know well about his amnesia. He has forgotten everything – _everything_ – of his past. He does not know his friends from his enemies, relatives from strangers, a wizard from a Muggle. He has been floundering for years, unaware of his true identity, his magical abilities, and such a complete loss has had a devastating effect on his psyche and self-confidence.

"In short – hasn't his dissociative fugue been punishment enough? What my defendant needs the most at this point is a slow, gradual reintroduction into the world where he belongs, support from friends and family, and to start creating new memories. He doesn't need this. He has suffered a penance for his misdeeds far greater than any other magical criminal has had to pay."

Ginny pursed her lips tightly together, gripped by pity and fear and doubt, and bowed her head to the Wizengamot bench. Kingsley waved her back, and she returned to her seat. Harper looked infinitely assured and confident. Draco remained motionless.

Kingsley declared that the Wizengamot would recess for lunch, and the court was dismissed until one o'clock, when they would start presenting evidence and witnesses. That was the part Ginny was truly worried about, for if Yaxley really had seen Draco kill Colin, she had nothing solid to defend that. She had a few flimsy precedents about using memories as evidence, but they all depended on very specific instances, and there was no guarantee that any would be applicable.

Draco was escorted back to his cell to receive his meal – but not before he exchanged a private look with Ginny – and Ginny herself reluctantly waited for her family, plus Simon and John, to come down from the stands. Before they could reach her, Lucius Malfoy, resplendent in solid black robes, had swept down from his seat like a bird of prey and commanded her attention.

"You are fully prepared for this trial?" he asked.

Ginny nodded. "He can't pull any surprises on me," she vowed.

"You will do everything necessary to clear my son's name?"

"I said I would, and I will stand by my word," Ginny said coldly. "Did you receive my owl yesterday?"

"I did," Lucius replied. "You are very fortunate that I anticipated you, for otherwise Narcissa would have been buried with it." He reached into his robes and pulled out a long ebony case – a wand box. A silver plate on the top had the name _Narcissa Black _engraved into it. "Draco used this on the… evening in question," Lucius said glibly. "I will bring it with me to the stand."

Ginny blinked. "But I had only asked if I could present it as evidence—"

"I will testify on his behalf," Lucius said over her, waving his hand like she was a distracting fly. "I am prepared and ready. I shall see you in two hours." With that, he tucked the wand box back into his robes and stalked away, cane clicking on the marble floor.

A low whistle returned her attention to the group behind her. John's brown eyes were wide. "Bloomin' hell," he said. "I'd bet a hundred quid that that's Draco's father."

"He looks just like him," Simon agreed, in similar tones of amazement. "Uncanny, really."

"Yeah, well, don't try cosying up to him," Ron said darkly, putting an arm round Hermione's waist. "Nothing he loathes more than Squibs and Muggleborns – no offence, of course."

"None taken," John said. "You should have seen what Draco was like after we first met him. Grumpier bloke I never saw…"

He led the way out of the courtroom, most of the group following behind, but Hermione and Simon lagged behind.

"Askin me aboot me Sight," Simon said, nodding towards Hermione. "Never had someone so interested en et before."

"Hermione works in the Law Office," Ginny explained, "and she loves research. It's a hobby of hers."

"I just think it's fascinating that you've managed to control it without any magic," Hermione said, shaking her head in awe. She stared at Ginny a moment, uncomprehending. "Oh! Oh Gin, you've done excellent so far, really! I knew Mr Harper wouldn't like the Patterson rule at all, and I'm so glad it's working out."

"Me too," she agreed.

"And now we need lunch, I'm famished," Hermione declared. She ran ahead to rejoin Ron. Ginny hung back a bit, wanting to gather her thoughts together after surviving the most terrifying hour of her life, but to her surprise, Simon stayed back with her.

"She's a bit scary, that Hermione," he said with a low whistle. "Completely brilliant, mind you. But scary."

Ginny chuckled. "That's why we love her."

"She said sommat that's got me thinking, though, Gin love," he said, frowning. "You know that ah have trouble with strong emotions. Ahm worried aboot slippin whilst ahm on the stand."

Ginny's eyebrows shot skyward. She hadn't considered that. "A Calming Draught beforehand, reckon?"

Simon shook his head. "One drop an ahd be useless for hours," he said ruefully.

"But you'll do fine," she assured him. "I know you will. You ignore everyone else and pretend it's just me with you. You'll be perfectly fine."

"Et's not nerves, love," Simon said. "Ah doan get nervous en front o crowds." He winced and started fiddling with his sporran; he had worn formal Scottish dress again. Unlike the last occasion, however, this time he had a green tartan draped across his shoulders, what she assumed to be the plaid of Clan Kincaid. It was clasped in place at his shoulder by a brooch, which bore a coat of arms and the motto _This, I'll defend._

Ginny touched his arm. "Something else? Please, Simon, I don't want you to do this if you don't feel comfortable."

"But et's nae aboot me bein comfortable, es et?" he pointed out. He looked at her, his dark eyes in earnest. "Et's aboot gettin Dragon boy en the clear. Ahm doin et, ahve already decided. Ah just thought ye should be warned."

Ginny wondered about his cautionary words all through their lunch. Simon himself seemed perfectly at ease; he and George got along like a house on fire, and tears came to Molly's eyes as George let out a huge belly laugh at something Simon said – his first in too many years. John and Bill were talking about ancient curses – evidently John had come across some Aboriginal ones in Australia – and Hermione and Ron were entertaining Victoire. To anyone on the outside, they appeared to simply be a family out enjoying luncheon together.

It all really hinged on what testimonies Harper had found, didn't it? The two main charges, the assault and the murder, were the only ones that could actually get him into Azkaban. Hermione had warned her, only 

confirming Ginny's suspicions, that Harper would concentrate the most on those two charges, and he might even have Padma Patil and Dennis Creevey bear witness. But who knew what Yaxley had seen? There had been so much chaos that night at Hogwarts, so much confusion, fear, exhaustion, and Ginny had only seen the tail end of it.

Hermione gave her a few last-minute tips as they made their way back to the Ministry after lunch. "You project your voice so well, Ginny," she said, "and it really shows that you're confident and understand the case. Keep it up, it'll earn you major points. Just remember that you know what to expect, you know what he's been accused of, and everything you need to defend him is written in your file."

"But they have everything I've written as well," Ginny pointed out. One of the most important things she had done in preparation to declaring herself as Draco's defence had been to sort through Draco's case file. She couldn't take it with her, as it belonged to the Ministry, so she had made sure that any incriminating items – like what his favourite gelato flavour was – were removed. But they had everything else she had found on him. "They know exactly how and where to strike."

"And so do you," Hermione assured her. "Though there was something really quick that I wanted to point out to you – it has to do with Simon Kincaid."

They had by that time arrived at the courtroom, where most of the Wizengamot had already resumed their seats. It was still a few minutes until one o'clock. "Let's get back to order," Kingsley said, shifting into a more comfortable position on his bench.

"Can it wait?" Ginny asked Hermione.

"Just take this, from my research," she said hastily, and she shoved a folded scrap of parchment into Ginny's extended hand. With a quick smile, she followed Ron and the rest of the Weasleys back into the stands.

While everyone else returned to their seats, and someone went to fetch Draco from his cell, Ginny sat at her table and unfolded the parchment. As usual, Hermione's note consisted of a few cryptic words, some that weren't even in English. In her neat, loopy script, Ginny read:

_Middle Scottish Gaelic: Hiram mac Donnchaid mec Alasdair t__oísech clainne Iain__  
noble line of John – clan chief?_

Ginny huffed in annoyance. What was so important about this person John that Hermione had urgently needed to tell her? Draco was a pure blooded English wizard; she doubted there was any Scots in his direct family tree. Simon, also being pure blooded, was probably related to him in some distant way since they all were, but Simon had been banished from his own Scottish family. What relevance did they have to the case? Was Simon descended from the noble John, whoever he was? And what did that have to do with Draco?

Then, just as Kingsley banged his gavel, she suddenly realised why the name Hiram sounded so familiar.

"This court is now called to order," Kingsley declared, just as the very last courtier took her place on the Wizengamot bench. "We are here to view and listen to witnesses and evidence submitted to this court in the case of _Draco Malfoy v Wizarding Britain_. The plaintiff has elected to allow the defence to submit their evidence first."

From his table, Harper smiled benevolently at Ginny.

Draco was escorted in moments later, tall and refined even in his borrowed clothes. He was wearing John Palmer's loaned three-piece suit again, and he looked out at the court and viewers with something bordering on disdain. He looked every inch the heartless bully he used to be. Only Ginny knew his seeming indifference hid bone-deep fear and uncertainty.

She stood, breathing evenly. The beginning was the easy part. "Thank you, Chief Warlock," she said. "I'd like to start by addressing the charge against my defendant that he was once a Death Eater."

"You may proceed," Kingsley said.

"The Wizengamot has in the past defined Death Eaters as those who bear the mark of Tom Riddle," Ginny said. "If I may approach my defendant?"

At Kingsley's nod, Ginny went to Draco, who she now saw was gripping the arms of his chair in a steel grip. "Your left arm, please," she whispered to him. He smiled weakly up at her and released his left hand.

"The Wizengamot will notice that no such mark appears on the defendant's arm," she said. She lifted Draco's arm and bared it to the elbow, allowing them to see the naked white expanse of his skin. "As it has already been confirmed that the defendant has been living like a Muggle these past eight years, and suffered from amnesia, it goes without saying that he would lack the knowledge to cast glamours or other cosmetic charms to hide such a mark. He is not a Death Eater."

"So it would appear," Kingsley said, surprise evident in his voice. "The Wizengamot will now decide. All those who believe that Draco Malfoy is not currently and was not in the past a Death Eater."

An overwhelming majority of the courtiers raised their hands. Only a handful dissented.

Kingsley tapped his gavel. "The charge of being a Death Eater is hereby wiped from the record."

Ginny released a breath she didn't realise she had been holding, and returned to her seat. One down, nine to go.

"The defence would like to now call its first witness," Ginny announced. _Simon_, she thought at him, _that's you_.

As though her thoughts had been a clarion call, Simon stood up in the stands and made his way to the chair that appeared before Kingsley's bench. He moved stiffly, not at all with his usual athletic grace, and sat down in the witness seat as though it burned him.

Ginny did not miss the murderous look that abruptly appeared on the face of the courtier beside Kingsley. It was the dark-eyed man she had seen before, the one who had argued at St Mungo's that Draco's treatment was appalling for a pureblood wizard to be forced to endure.

He was also the one, she had noticed before, who during roll call had given a name that didn't sound English, even though his accent said otherwise. She thought of the slip of paper Hermione had given her. She was completely unfamiliar with Scottish Gaelic, but she would venture to say that the dark-eyed courtier spoke it fluently.

It all fit together. Simon's nerves, Hermione's hint. Percy would have been proud of her for actually knowing the name of a government official.

_Please, Simon,_ she thought_. Stay strong. Do this for Draco._

"My first witness," she said to the court scribe.

"Please state your name for the court," Kingsley invited him.

"Well," Simon said flippantly, adjusting the tartan draped across his chest. "Ef we're gonna be formal aboot et, ahm know asSimon _Dubh mac Hiraim mec Donnchaid __toísech clainne Iain____._"

The court scribe looked up in horror at having to spell so many foreign words.

"Tha's all right, boyo," Simon said, seeing his distress. "En me community, ah was known as Black Simon, son o the clan chief, from John o Tranent's noble line."

"And to the Ministry?" Kingsley asked, mildly annoyed.

Simon smiled, not up at him, but at the dark-eyed courtier to his side. Simon's own matching dark eyes twinkled. "Well, to the Ministry, ahm Simon Kincaid. Esnt tha right, Da?"


	42. Ever Present Past

Three Thousand Days of Innocence by cinnamon badge

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Forty-One – Ever Present Past**

Ginny watched as Kingsley looked in surprise at the courtier seated beside him – the man that she knew was none other than Hiram Kincaid, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Now that she had made the connection, she couldn't believe she hadn't seen the physical similarities between father and son earlier. Simon had inherited Hiram's dark eyes, though Simon's were usually filled with warmth and joy where his father's were flat and serious. The thin, straight nose, the strong chin – the same in both. Even their voices were nearly identical, though Hiram's Scottish accent was much less pronounced.

"Undersecretary," Kingsley said slowly, "is this young man your—"

"He is no son of mine," Hiram spat, still glaring down at Simon.

Several courtiers looked between the two of them, and they undoubtedly saw the similarities Ginny had.

"Children cannae choose their parents," Simon said bitterly to Kingsley, "an likewise, parents cannae choose their children."

"This is a court of law," Kingsley cried, "and I _will _get a straight answer. Is this man the son of Undersecretary Kincaid, or isn't he?"

"This dispute is resolved easily enough," a wizard said exasperatedly. "He will appear in the National Records for numerous instances: his birth certificate, Hogwarts academic record, Apparition license—"

"My witness is a Squib, sir," Ginny interjected finally. "But yes, there would still be a birth certificate for him. If I may approach the Chief Warlock, I have already gone to the trouble of locating it and have a copy to present."

Kingsley waved her quickly forward, and Ginny brought with her the faded parchment paper she had thought to dig up one week earlier. "It's all in order," he announced aloud for the benefit of the Wizengamot, perusing the document. "Simon Dubghall MacIntosh Sinclair Kincaid, born in Bellochantuy, Scotland, to Hiram and Caoimhe Kincaid, nee Sinclair?"

"Aye, that's me," Simon said.

Kingsley gave Hiram an odd sideways look, but said nothing. Ginny turned towards Simon, who was now ignoring them all and giving Draco a sheepish glance. The abandonment of Squibs in the Wizarding world, as John Palmer had said before, happened often enough that no one would be surprised to hear about Simon's parentage. Being faced with Hiram's outright rejection of his firstborn son, however, was altogether different. Courtiers all through the benches were fidgeting awkwardly, unsure of what to do or say.

"This man is who he says he is," Kingsley said. "He is, then, a close relation of a Wizengamot member, which is a cause for concern. Undersecretary?"

"Yes?" Hiram bit off coldly.

"I offer you the chance to step out of the trial, if you fear there will be a conflict of interest that will prevent you from making an unbiased—"

"That will not be an issue," Hiram said over him, imperiously rearranging his expensive robes. "I will keep my seat, Chief Warlock."

All through their brief exchange, Simon had stared at a fixed point on Kingsley's bench, hands clenching and unclenching, breathing steadily and evenly. Ginny's heart went out to him, but she couldn't say a word in comfort. This was what he had meant when he had told her he was worried about losing control: there was no love lost on Hiram's side. Despite the flippant way Simon had told Ginny he'd been thrown out of his own house, it was apparent to her that, fourteen years later, it still anguished him greatly.

"Very well," Kingsley said. Ginny thought she detected a note of regret in his voice. "Counsellor Weasley," he went on to her, as business-like as ever. "The Wizengamot will now hear your witness."

Ginny nodded her head in acknowledgement and turned to Simon once again. He looked like a young king in his high-backed chair, sitting straight and tall, decked in his formal Scottish regalia. How anyone could turn their back someone like him, who emanated such charisma and magnetism, was beyond her.

"Mr Kincaid," Ginny began, approaching him. "Let's start at the beginning. How do you know the defendant?"

"Ah met him seven years ago, en Brighton," he said. "We were introduced by a mutual friend's uncle, he said his name was Ben Hamilton. Since then, we've been livin together en a townhouse en Earl's Court, London."

Ginny nodded encouragingly, and moved a step forward. "Then you're in a position to know him quite well, having lived with him for seven years."

"Aye," Simon grunted.

"How would you describe his character?"

He laughed. "At first he was a right pillock, wasn he?" he said, grinning wickedly. He looked towards Draco, who had also chuckled. "Bit high an mighty he was, an never picked up after himself. Johnny – that's our other roommate – Johnny told me ta let him get ta know us before ah did anathin rash, but then ahve never been one for subtlety."

"No, you haven't," Ginny heard Draco murmur softly, too softly for the Wizengamot to hear. A fond smile was etched across his pale face.

"Played pranks on him, ah did," Simon said proudly. "Got him offa his high horse. An once he cottoned on, the three of us got along like tea an crumpets. Better bloke you'd never meet."

"And this opinion you formed of him was without knowing anything of his past?" Ginny pressed.

"Nary a thing," he said. "We'd no idea where the boyo'd come from. Only knew what we'd seen with our own eyes, an tha was that he was a good an decent man."

Ginny's heart rose to her throat. How could they want to take Draco away from this? "Mr Kincaid," she went on, "in all the time you've known Draco Malfoy – as Ben Hamilton – has he ever demonstrated any anti-social behaviour?"

"Never," Simon said, shaking his head vigorously. "He doesn even take down broadsides en Tube stations, or throw rubbish anywhere except en bins. A model citizen, he es."

"Were you surprised, then, to hear that he had been charged with so many crimes?"

"O course!" Simon cried, slamming a fist down on the arm of his chair. "Ef that boyo over there—" he pointed at Draco "—actually killed someone, ahll eat me tartan, ah will."

Ginny latched onto his pronouncement with both hands. "So you don't believe Draco Malfoy is guilty of these crimes?"

Simon shook his head. "No offence, mate," he said sideways to Draco, "but ah doan think ye have et en ye ta hurt another person on purpose. We were playin rugby once, an he threw the ball an hit one o our mates square en the nose. Accident, o course. Bleedin all over the place, he was, an Draco was such a right mess over et, et took us hours ta calm him down." Simon looked directly up at Kingsley and the Wizengamot then, and lifted his chin. "No, ah doan think for a mo tha Draco Malfoy actually killed or harmed anyone," he declared. "He's more a brother ta me than me own kin. Ah would easily die for him."

Ginny blinked, surprised. She hadn't expected such a heartfelt pronouncement. Nor had Draco, it seemed, for he was grinning tearily at Simon, his criminal trial forgotten for the time being.

"No more questions," she said. "Your witness, prosecutor."

She returned to her lonely seat as Harper rose, straightening his grey robes. "Thank you, Counsellor Weasley," he said, inclining his head. Ginny wondered if she was the only person to hear the condescension with which he said the word _counsellor_, but then she saw the black look Draco gave him. Apparently not.

"Mr Kincaid," Harper said, clasping his hands behind his back. "You made mention of an incident – with a _rigby_ ball, I believe it was?"

Simon rolled his eyes and didn't bother to hide it. "Rugby," he corrected.

"Yes yes," Harper continued, waving a hand. "Rugby. You said that Mr Malfoy here hit someone in the face with a rugby ball, and became distraught at the lad's suffering afterwards."

"Yeah, that's right," Simon replied.

Ginny's hackles rose at once, but she didn't know why. Harper had found something in Simon's testimony, somehow – but Simon himself seemed at ease still. Surely he would have foreseen something in his questioning and prepared himself for it? Could she depend on him for having done that?

"So he had harmed someone – however it happened – and was extremely penitent in the aftermath," Harper concluded. He looked up at the Wizengamot. "It has already been established by this court that Mr Malfoy suffered what is called a dissociative fugue, and that these fugue states are caused by emotional and mental trauma." He put a thoughtful finger to his temple. "Does this not fit the pattern established by Mr Kincaid? It is entirely plausible, then, that Mr Malfoy killed Colin Creevey and tortured Padma Patil that night at the battle of Hogwarts, then felt so ashamed of his actions that he sent himself into this so-called fugue state. This harm he caused was greater than hurting someone unintentionally, hence, his reaction was that much greater."

"I object," Ginny burst out. "My defendant's guilt hasn't been determined yet—"

"Overruled," Kingsley said. "The prosecution brings up an excellent point." The Wizengamot, seated on the edges of their seats, seemed to agree.

"Do you not agree, Mr Kincaid?" Harper pressed.

Simon smiled a little. "Mister Harper," he said, mimicking Harper's tone, "that conclusion es based on the idea that Draco Malfoy's got the stones ta cast a Killin Curse en the first place. Which ah do nae believe es so. No offence, mate," he said again.

"You've heard the other charges," Harper cried. "He used the Imperius on a defenceless woman. It is but a small step from control to murder."

"Es et?" Simon asked, wide-eyed. He steepled his fingers in front of him, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. "Have you ever cast an Imperius, Mister Harper?"

"It is illegal," Harper scoffed. "Of course I haven't."

"Ah once saw someone cast et," Simon said bluntly. "He was nine years old, messin aboot with his older brother's wand. He heard the spell en conversation an decided to try et. On me."

A ripple of surprise ran through the Wizengamot. Ginny, helpless, could only sit and watch the scene unfold before her.

"An untrained wizard – only a lad, at that – usin someone else's wand, able ta cast an Imperius like et was ewt but a parlour trick," Simon said, unfazed. "And et was strong, believe me. Ah could nae break out of et. But then, this idiot boyo, he tried ta use the Killin Curse on a beetle flyin round en his face. Could nae do et. He wanted the pesky thing dead just as much as he wanted ta control me, but he could nae do et."

Harper flustered a bit, then said tersely, "And what does that have to do with this trial, Mr Kincaid?"

"Et takes a certain kind o wizard ta be able ta cast a Killin Curse," Simon said, shrugging. "Does nae matter how good or magically strong ye are."

"You yourself are not a wizard," Harper said disdainfully. "How can you claim to know such things?"

Simon looked down at the floor. "Ahve seen the Killin Curse cast before as well," he murmured.

On his bench, Hiram suddenly started forward, as though to silence his son. Ginny saw the movement and gaped at him. Could _he _have been the one Simon saw casting an Avada Kedavra?

"Ye need ta really want someone dead for et ta work," Simon said, still staring at the floor. "Et's not the same as wishin a bug would get outta your face, or wantin someone ta leave ye be. You need ta truly, deeply want that person ta die, ta cease ta exist. You need ta firmly believe that they are a waste o space – et takes hate on a grand level, far greater than ah can understand. Ah ken that much."

Simon's pronouncement was met with silence. John was staring down at him in horror; evidently he hadn't heard this story before either. As though coming out of a trance, Simon blinked and straightened in his seat. He stared at Harper. "So no, actually, ah do nae think Draco can cast a Killin Curse," he said. "Tha's all ah have ta say on that."

"No more questions," Harper said flatly. He stalked back to his seat, and Simon strode back to his without even waiting for Kingsley's dismissal.

Hiram Kincaid, Ginny noticed with a pang, had never once looked at his son.

"The defence will call its next witness," Kingsley said, still visibly shaken by Simon's testimony.

Ginny rose again. "The defence calls Lucius Malfoy to the stand," she announced.

With his usual unflappable calm, Lucius stood and glided down from the public benches to the seat that awaited him. The Wizengamot, like some great flock of migratory birds all following one leader, began to shift and whisper and stare en masse. Ginny took a few steps back to allow him to pass her, but instead of going right to the chair Simon had recently vacated, he went instead to Draco. Surprised, Ginny watched him as he bent his head to mutter something to his son, then pat his shoulder in an uncharacteristically gentle manner.

It struck her at once what he was doing. The court had just seen Hiram and Simon's dysfunctional relationship – Lucius was making himself look the better father in comparison, and gaining valuable points in their favour. Ginny would have been rolling her eyes had she not been so grudgingly grateful for Lucius' performance.

Eventually, he took his seat. "Mr Malfoy," Ginny said, standing straighter. "You know well the ten charges against your son – nine, now. This is true?"

"I am aware of them, yes," Lucius confirmed coldly.

"What the Wizengamot might not realise, however, is that seven of those charges are all linked by a common instigator," she said, stepping towards him. "Would you please enlighten them as to their connection?"

Lucius lifted his gaze to the rest of the courtiers arrayed before and above him. His face twitched and shifted, subtly, as though he were fighting the usual superior sneer that marred the set of his mouth and eyes. "After the events of the Department of Mysteries, some eleven years ago," he began slowly, "Riddle was…displeased with my service." He swallowed and shifted in his seat. "I had failed in his eyes. As my punishment, he turned to my son, Draco – my only child – and asked him to perform the impossible: to kill the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore."

As it still did these days, the mention of Dumbledore's death brought with it outraged mutters and more whispering. Lucius waited until they were his captive audience again. "What is more," he went on, "Riddle threatened Draco that, should he fail as I had, I and my wife would be killed while he, Draco, was forced to watch. He was only sixteen at the time."

Draco himself shivered violently in his chair, and Ginny knew he must be thinking about the memory he had recalled of the sinister, serpentine Tom Riddle.

"Sixteen years old," Ginny repeated. "That's a great deal for a boy of only sixteen to be burdened with – the very lives of his parents, his closest family."

Lucius nodded stiffly.

"So he undertook the impossible task set before him."

"What choice did he have?" Lucius spat. "There was nowhere for him to turn."

"How long did it take him to work out a plan that would end with Dumbledore's death?"

"The duration of the school year," Lucius said, slightly calmer. "Draco tried cursing him with a deadly necklace, using two people to deliver it to him, but another student touched it first. Then he tried poisoning a bottle of butterbeer, but it was mistakenly delivered to the potions professor – and your own brother drank it." Ginny raised an eyebrow at Lucius, defying him to make his usual disparaging remark about her family – but none came. "Then he worked out how the Vanishing Cabinet worked, and managed to sneak Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

While Lucius had outlined that horrific school year, Ginny had been holding up her hands for the Wizengamot to see, and raising her fingers one by one until she had seven up. "Seven of the nine remaining charges," she said to the court. "All performed under extreme stress and pressure, from none other than the most evil wizard of recent memory. All performed while my defendant was a minor." She turned back to Lucius. "What was your son's attitude towards the Death Eaters before he was forced to such terrible acts?"

Lucius snorted. "Like anything he didn't completely understand, he thought being a Death Eater was – what's the term these days? 'Brilliant.'" Lucius gave a derisive laugh, but tempered it with a regretful glance at his son that Ginny wasn't sure was entirely insincere. "He would beg me to tell him what they were doing and what they planned to do. Once he was thrust into their numbers and Riddle paid attention to him, however, he soon realised that it was not what he'd thought it was."

"He only wanted to be a Death Eater because you, his father, were," Ginny said, as the thought struck her.

"Exactly," Lucius said.

Ginny paused a moment, moving from one side of the courtroom to the other, to allow the Wizengamot the time to process what Lucius had just said. "Moving on," she said finally, "I believe you have our first piece of evidence in your possession?"

"I do."

Ginny looked to Kingsley. "Mr Malfoy will now present for the Wizengamot's consideration the wand that belonged to his late wife, Narcissa Malfoy."

Kingsley gestured to him, and Lucius removed from some inner pocket the ebony wand box he had showed to Ginny before. Setting the box in his lap, he undid the catch and opened it to remove a slender, elegant wand. It didn't look right in Lucius' large hands.

"Mr Malfoy," Ginny said, "moving forward to your son's seventh year at Hogwarts – what wand did he use?"

"His own, a hawthorn wand, the same wand he had owned since he was eleven. Until around Easter, when he was relieved of it by Harry Potter, after which my son used my wife's wand. This one."

"So he would have been using this wand on the night that Colin Creevey died and Padma Patil was attacked?" Ginny said.

"He was," Lucius confirmed.

Draco had been watching the questioning without wavering in his attention once. On hearing that he had used the wand only a few yards away, Ginny saw him strain forward in his seat, trying to get a better look at it.

"I assume you are going to have Prior Incantato performed on the wand for us to see, Counsellor Weasley?" Kingsley interjected.

"I am," Ginny said.

"Then I ask that we have a Wizengamot courtier do that. Madam Sanderson?"

Ginny had expected this. A witch had risen from her seat and was now descending the stairs to the floor – Juliet Sanderson, the Ministry's foremost expert on wand artistry and theory. She had apprenticed for decades with Ollivander himself, and some said that she knew even more about wands than he did.

Juliet went right to Lucius, who offered up Narcissa's wand without hesitating. Juliet swished the wand in the air for a few moments, checking its suppleness. "Your wife has used this wand since the Battle of Hogwarts?" she asked.

"Yes," Lucius said flatly.

"Then that's eight years of other spells to get through. If the Wizengamot will bear with me—" Juliet pointed the wand at the floor and muttered the needed incantation. At once, a smoky but opaque image of a cup and saucer appeared there – the last spell Narcissa had performed had been to heat a cup of tea.

"I can't definitively confirm that this is Narcissa Malfoy's wand," Juliet said, "but I can say this: the owner of this wand was the last to use it. The image of the last spell is solid and easily visible, whereas if someone else had used it, the image would be more difficult to see, depending on their power. Now I'll try to track back to the night in question."

The witch muttered another, unfamiliar spell, and the teacup was replaced with heavy purple curtains, then a blanket; soon the images on the floor were changing so quickly that Ginny could scarcely discern one shape from another. They flickered from one to another like a Muggle movie, soundless, innocuous, telling the story of a life in reverse order.

It felt like no time at all, though, before the vision of Colin Creevey sprawled dead on the floor flashed before her eyes.

Ginny was startled to find that she had forgotten what he really looked like. Though his limbs now were bent at unnatural angles, she remembered how there had always been a camera clutched in one hand, ready in an instant to capture any candid moment or picturesque shot. His dishwater blond hair fell across his forehead – he had constantly been pushing it out of the way as he spoke, gesturing wildly with his arms.

There was an immediate reaction from the crowds when the body appeared. Molly, who had always liked Colin, turned and gripped Bill's shoulder, her fingers digging into his shirt as she stared at the bench behind her. John closed his eyes and bowed his head; Simon looked filled with pity. Victoire, in her father's arms, whimpered and buried her face in Bill's chest as she began to quietly cry.

"What do you make of this, Madam Sanderson?" Kingsley asked.

"Someone else other than the wand's owner cast this spell," she said, studying the body with a clinical, calculating eye. And Ginny, swallowing back her grief, could now see it as well: this image was different from the teacup. She could see the texture of the stone floor through Colin's wrinkled shirt, his hands. The colours were fainter, washed out as though left in the sun for too long.

_Dear Merlin_, Ginny thought, gripping her robes in her fists, as the reality of the vision finally hit her.

He really had done it. Draco had killed Colin Creevey.


	43. Amateur Dramatics

A/N: DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Forty-Two – Amateur Dramatics**

"If all the evidence has been presented," Kingsley said, shuffling through his papers, "then the Wizengamot is ready to give a verdict."

Ginny clutched her hands together in her lap. Her heart felt as though it were about to rattle right out of her ribcage, it was beating so quickly, and she could feel a bead of sweat trickling down the length of her spine. Draco, a few yards away, was breathing heavily, blinking back tears. This was it – the moment of truth. The moment that would irrevocably change both their lives.

"All those who find Draco Malfoy guilty of all charges," Kingsley cried.

They didn't hesitate. Every single witch and wizard in the Wizengamot raised his hand.

"No!" Ginny shrieked, pushing back her chair. Rage rose in her like a lethal tide. "You can't!"

"We just did, Miss Weasley," Kingsley said. "Our decision has been made, and it is final. Draco Malfoy, you are hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban, with the chance for parole in eighty years. May God have mercy on your soul."

"You can't!" she screamed again, running for Draco. She didn't know why; maybe she thought she could spirit him away, away from the mess and start over. He strained against his bonds, reaching for her, but two hulking, faceless guards blocked the way. They were going to take him from her.

"Ginny!" he cried, his face twisted in fear. "Don't let them do this!"

"Draco! _Draco_!"

Ginny started awake at the sound of her own voice, drenched with sweat, her bed sheets tangled around her body. On seeing she was in her darkened flat, alone, she gave a relieved gasp and sank back into her pillow, trembling uncontrollably. She looked at her alarm clock – it was just past four in the morning. She had been asleep for less than an hour, and she doubted she would be able to sleep another wink. Not if it would bring her nightmares like the one she'd just had.

Still shaking, she crept out of bed and, grabbing her dressing gown, tiptoed into her tiny kitchen. Whenever she had been upset her mother always made her a cuppa, so that was what Ginny did now. Performing the mindless task of brewing tea, she reasoned, would steady her, and calming herself down meant she could begin preparing for the next day of the trial.

After the image of Colin's body had appeared in the courtroom the day before, there had been a few moments where Ginny truly believed Draco would go to Azkaban, despite anything she could do or say. The evidence lay literally before them, incontrovertible and completely undeniable. But then her improvised legal training from Hermione kicked in, and Ginny was able to keep a level head.

"All this proves is that Narcissa Malfoy's wand is the murder weapon," she had argued. "In Madam Sanderson's own words, it does not tell us who exactly killed Colin Creevey."

Harper, of course, had pushed the theory Ginny had known he would: he argued that it was highly unlikely that Narcissa's wand had done much passing between hands in the midst of a heated battle. "Besides," he had said, "Mrs Malfoy returned to her home after the battle with her wand intact, so how else would she have gotten it back? The odds are that it was handed to her directly – by her own son, after he used it to slay one of his classmates in cold blood."

The rest of the court session was not nearly as intense as it had begun. Ginny presented receipts of purchase from Borgin and Burke's that showed that Draco had not purchased the Hand of Glory and the opal necklace he had used during his sixth year. Instead, the receipts showed that Lucius had bought them, for purposes unknown. Lucius curled his lip at her when she revealed this bit of information, but remained quiet. Proving that Draco had not been the owner of the cursed objects, after all, meant that he could not be accused of possessing them in the legal sense, only that he had access to them. After seeing the mostly convinced look on Kingsley's face, Ginny was reasonably confident that that charge would be dismissed.

Another charge that she was sure was taken care of was the charge of conspiracy, which was, she had discovered through her research, perfectly ridiculous to begin with. Draco had not been a willing participant in any sort of planning – a key factor that needed to be proven in conspiracy cases – instead doing what he was told under extreme duress. 'Extreme duress', it seemed, was the theme of the day, but Hermione had told her that most of the charges against Draco could be defended in such a way. He hadn't actually _wanted _to do any of the things he had done, and that fact above all others was the one that saw Ginny through. It covered some of the remaining charges: endangering minors when he'd let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and the Imperius Curse he had placed on Madam Rosmerta to get the necklace to Katie Bell.

Ginny took her tea to her small table and held the steaming cup between her hands, inhaling the warm peppermint fumes. In a few hours, it would be Harper's turn to present evidence to the Wizengamot, and it went without saying that Ginny was worried about what would happen. The list he had given to her and the Wizengamot listed Padma Patil, Dennis Creevey, Katie Bell, and Harry as key witnesses, along with Yaxley's memory of Colin's death. Lestrange's memory had been removed from the record, as he had been sent back to Azkaban and was now considered too imbalanced to testify.

But it was evidence designed to pack an emotional punch. Ginny, with her store receipts, couldn't hope to top that.

The one omission from the list, however, confused her. Ron's name, despite the fact that one of the charges concerned his poisoning, was nowhere to be found on any of the documents Ginny had received from the prosecution or the Wizengamot. She wondered what that meant, and she hadn't had the chance to ask Ron himself about it yet.

Even after she had finished her cup of tea, Ginny's hands still shook from the intense adrenaline rush her dream had given her. She was filled with restless, angry energy that crawled under her skin as though her limbs had fallen asleep, and merely sitting at her table wasn't doing anything to make it go away. She looked at the clock on the wall. Four-thirty. It was dark yet, but dawn was fast approaching. She knew exactly how she could kill some time, until the next ordeal of court sessions later in the morning.

At the very end of Diagon Alley – for anyone who ever made it all the way to the end – was a public park where Ginny would sometimes take her broom and do laps, to clear her head and get some fresh air. Most Wizarding folk in England preferred to go to the park outside Hogsmeade, which meant that the small London heath was largely unpopulated at any given point in the day. It made it perfect for her, for when she just wanted to be alone.

But when Ginny stepped onto Sinclair Heath a half-hour later, dressed snugly against the pre-dawn chill with her Cleansweep Eleven over one shoulder, she discovered she was not alone after all. A small figure drifted lazily above her on a broomstick, making haphazard patterns against the night sky. He or she must have seen her, for the figure stopped at once and made its way towards her. Ginny stepped farther out onto the heath, wondering who it was.

She recognized Harry when he was still some distance away, for the moonlight caught briefly on his round National Health glasses while he was in the air. He descended gracefully, and walked towards her.

"I couldn't sleep either," he said in greeting. He blew on his hands to warm them.

"You?" Ginny said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you had your lofty ideals and holier-than-thou attitude to keep you warm at night. Not to mention Romilda Vane."

Harry scowled at her and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair – a gesture that had driven her mad when she was twelve. "Believe it or not, I do have a heart," he said testily. "I know I've been a bit petty these past few weeks—"

Ginny snorted.

"You have to see it from my perspective," he insisted. "Draco Malfoy is a bad egg. He was when I first met him fifteen years ago, and he was the last time I saw him, at the Battle of Hogwarts."

"It's been eight years," Ginny said. "People change, Harry."

"There are certain things you can forgive, and others you can't ever forget. Malfoy has done far too much for me to simply forget. You should know that, better than anyone."

"That wasn't him, that was Lucius," she hissed, bristling with indignation. "And you – you testified eight years ago and got Lucius and Narcissa off. Why are you changing your mind now?"

"I did it for her," Harry said flatly. "She helped me by lying to Tom Riddle. And now she's dead."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but he went on. "You know how this looks, of course, don't you? You, an upstanding, decorated Auror leaving behind career and family allegiances – dropping everything you know – to defend a man accused of murder and universally hated by the public. You've been bewitched by him."

She laughed hollowly. "I'm just being a foolish little girl again, right?" she said. "Ickle Baby Ginny, who needs looking after."

He stepped closer, hands spread. "Let him go, Gin-bug," he said gently. Harry hadn't called her that in years. She hated the way it sounded now. "I'll give you back your job in the Auror department. Everything will go back the way it was."

Safe, shy Ginny – the Ginny she had been for too many years to count – was tempted by the offer. Too tempted. She was good at her job – why give that up? The pay was decent; she might manage to get a raise next year. Her co-workers were pleasant; they didn't give her any trouble. Harry had bothered her before, but he had a new partner now; Romilda would keep him from badgering her.

But then, as though she were listening to a Muggle recording, Ginny could hear what she had said to Draco in his hospital room: _You're mine – and I won't let anyone else have you._

All the protectiveness and love she felt for him came rushing back, smothering the protests of old Ginny. Taking the safe route would be taking a step backwards, destroying the little progress she had already made on restarting her life and taking charge of her own destiny. And what would that life be like without someone to share it with? Harry could offer her anything in the world – but it meant nothing if Draco weren't there with her.

She shook her head at him. "That was where we differed most, Harry," she said. "I can see how people change, and accept those changes. I can forgive people for even the worst crimes if they are sincerely sorry and willing to better themselves. You never could give anyone a second chance."

He gave her an odd half-smile. "You used to be so stubborn," he said. "Reckon I forgot that."

"If you're quite done, you should leave," she said without rancour. "We're on opposite sides of a criminal trial, we shouldn't be talking to each other."

He nodded in agreement. "Good luck," he said, and he strolled off into the darkness.

Ginny sighed before taking to the skies. Most people changed, but Harry hadn't, and she wasn't so sure he ever would. But he was someone else's problem now. Not hers. So Ginny went on with her flight and didn't waste another thought on him.

Hours later, dressed in her best and file in tow, Ginny took her seat once again at the defence table in their courtroom. Harper, looking infinitely assured, was already at the prosecution's table, enjoying a cup of tea. Ginny frowned at him and looked away, arranging the papers she needed to cross-examine the witnesses.

The stands were slightly fuller this time: as Percy had promised, he and her father were present, as was Ron. Molly and George sat with them and so did Bill, sans Victoire. A few rows behind them, though, sat an uncomfortable Katie Bell, with Oliver Wood's arm draped around her shoulders. He was whispering something into her ear, though Ginny couldn't imagine what. Padma and Parvati Patil sat together on the other side of the aisle, looking very serious and solemn. On catching Ginny's eye, Parvati stuck her nose in the air and looked away. Dennis Creevey, looking remarkably mature and grownup, was there with his father and mother, whose face was blotchy and red from crying. Ginny was grateful she hadn't been around the day before, when her son's corpse had appeared before them all. As yesterday, Lucius was present, and likewise John. Simon was missing, though Ginny reasoned that he must have been forced to go into work, it being a weekday.

Either that, or he hadn't wanted to face his father again. Ginny couldn't blame him for that.

And on the floor, in front of the Wizengamot's stands, sat an odd-looking contraption that had a projector lens on one end – the Visual-Eyes. Waiting for Yaxley to show his memories of that terrible night to the court.

The session began minus the tumult and noise of the first one, for which Ginny was grateful. Draco was simply escorted into the courtroom and to his chair with little fanfare, while the Wizengamot called roll and Kingsley outlined the day's schedule. Ginny paid it little attention – until Kingsley paused, frowning down at a scroll of parchment before him.

"It has come to the attention of the Wizengamot," he began slowly, "that one of the charges against Mr Malfoy has been dropped."

Ginny and Draco both looked up, startled. What in the world…?

"The following charge has been stricken from the record," Kingsley announced. "Let it be known that Draco Malfoy is no longer being held responsible for the attempted murder of Ronald B. Weasley. The purported victim has dropped his case against the defendant and does not seek outside settlement in the matter."

Ginny gaped openly at Ron, seated in the stands. His face had gone a brilliant shade of red at having so much attention diverted towards him, and he fidgeted awkwardly in his seat. Molly, beside him, gasped aloud and looked at him, at which Ron bent over and started whispering something in her ear. Ginny itched to know what he was telling her.

This was incredible. More than incredible. They were down to eight charges.

Then, before she knew it, Harper had risen to his feet and called Padma Patil to the stand.

Padma stood slowly, and Ginny saw Parvati squeeze her hand before she left her sister's side. Silently, she descended the stairs to the main floor, and took the seat Lucius and Simon had occupied the day before.

"Miss Patil," Harper said gently. "Please describe for the court what happened to you the evening of the last battle at Hogwarts."

Padma heaved a sigh, and Ginny frowned at once. Surely the Wizengamot could see that they were in for a carefully orchestrated spectacle? "There was so much confusion that night," Padma began. "My sister and I tried to stay together, but at some point we were separated when a Death Eater blew up a wall near us. I was looking for her when I – when I ran into Draco Malfoy."

"Then what happened, Miss Patil?" Harper practically crooned.

Padma looked away, seeming to fight back tears. "He pointed his wand at me, when he saw who I was," she went on. "I didn't know what to do. Everyone knew he was involved with the Death Eaters and probably was one himself. I was so scared, I just stared at him for a minute."

A movement out of the corner of Ginny's eye caught her attention, and she turned. It was Draco, and he looked like he was going to be sick. He'd gone deathly pale, and was resting his cheek against the flat surface of his chair, away from Padma and the probing eyes of the Wizengamot.

"I asked him to let me by," Padma said. "I begged him to let me pass to look for my sister. He just looked at me for a minute, and then he – he _hexed_ me."

Ginny raised her eyebrows mildly, even as her heart leapt with hope. This count of alleged assault was all over a bloody hex? Merlin, all of her brothers – Percy included – would have been sent to Azkaban ages ago if that was all it took.

Harper shook his head. "Has this hex left any lasting damage?"

Padma nodded. "I still have nightmares where I see him pointing his wand at me. It's cost me years of Dreamless Sleeping Draughts and therapy."

Harper asked a few more follow up questions before letting Ginny cross-examine her, and Ginny smiled at Padma before approaching. She'd never liked the Patil twins; their airheaded gossip and single-minded obsession with makeup and boys had driven her mad when they were in Hogwarts. Who would've guessed that Lavender Brown would eventually grow out of it, but her best friends would not?

Ginny was direct. "What hex did Draco Malfoy cast on you?"

Padma faltered, then shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "It was one I'd never heard of before."

"Can you describe what you felt?"

"It felt like – like I was being pierced with little needles. All over my body."

Padma gave a theatrical shudder.

"The Hornet's Next Hex," Ginny said easily. "And how long did the feeling last?"

"Long enough," Padma said. Her façade was starting to crack.

"For the sake of the court, how long?"

"I couldn't say."

"Chief Warlock, the witness is—"

"It was a few seconds! A few seconds."

"Had you ever been hexed before that night?"

"Yes."

"In what situation?"

"For Dark Arts classes."

"And you were hexed long enough to feel them before you deflected them?"

"Yes."

"Give an example of a hex you felt in class."

"The Stinging Hex."

"The Stinging Hex?" Ginny's mind raced through the pages of research in her file. "But according to the Barton scale, that one is far more painful than the Hornet's Nest. Was the person who gave you the Stinging Hex charged with a crime as well?"

"No," was Padma's sullen reply.

Ginny spun and looked at Kingsley. "Chief Warlock, this is a waste of the Wizengamot's time," she declared. "This witness was obviously schooled by Counsellor Harper to answer in a particular manner and has blown events out of proportion—"

"Believe me, Weasley, I agree," Kingsley interjected, even dropping protocol. "Miss Patil, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?"

Padma spluttered wordlessly for a moment, before she burst out angrily, pointing at Draco, "He's a bad person! It's not fair that he got away with nothing after that night! Even if he didn't seriously hurt me – even if he didn't do to me what he did to Katie Bell, or Colin Creevey – I still remember what happened, and I know what side he was on." She stopped abruptly, breathing heavily, and Ginny suspected that the tears that came to her eyes now were genuine.

"I have nightmares about what went on," Padma whispered. "That part was true."

Kingsley winced slightly, but tapped his gavel against his desk. "Counsellor Harper, your witness is unreliable and the charge has been dismissed. Miss Patil, you may leave the stand."

Padma stood at once, glaring furiously at Ginny, and flounced back to her seat with her sister. Draco watched her go with an odd look on his face – Ginny thought it might be pity. Or sympathy. Despite his missing memories, did he have nightmares about that night too?

After Padma was Dennis Creevey, who talked about his brother and how his death had affected their family. Unlike Padma, if Dennis had received any coaching on how to act on the stand it wasn't as obvious. Even Ginny, who should have been plotting ways to twist his words in her favour, found herself aching with grief at Dennis's testimony. Colin had been one of her best friends. She should have been hunting down who killed him, not defending the man everyone thought had done it. But in her cross-examination, she revealed that Dennis had not been there when Colin died, and only saw his body afterwards when Oliver Wood brought it into the Great Hall. He had actually not witnessed anything involved with Draco's charges, and Ginny successfully – she thought – rendered him harmless as a witness.

No, it was Katie Bell's testimony that truly stopped her in her tracks. When Kingsley called for her to come to the stand, Ginny had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Padma had merely been hexed, but Katie had been in contact with a Class A cursed object and missed six months of school because of it. There were even rumours that the curse was the reason why she hadn't gone out for professional Quidditch after she graduated from Hogwarts.

Harper's questioning was what Ginny had expected; he asked what had happened, and Katie calmly described going into the girls' loo at the Three Broomsticks and encountering Madam Rosmerta. Up in the stands, Ginny saw Harry making a pained face, and she remembered that he had been there to experience the entire thing: he had seen Katie's body levitating in the air when her finger brushed the necklace. Unlike Padma and Dennis, Katie was even-handed and forthright in her testimony, and Ginny recalled from their Hogwarts days that she had always been logical, never one prone to drama or exaggeration like so many other girls they went to school with.

Harper almost looked frustrated as he ran through his list of questions. Ginny hoped it was because his coaching hadn't taken root in at least one of his witnesses.

By the time he had finished, they had been taken through the entire span of events: from Katie's landing in St. Mungo's until the day she woke up, her rehabilitation and convalescence until she was discharged and allowed to return to school. The necklace had left little permanent damage, but Ginny's suspicions had been correct: the curse had dulled Katie's physical reflexes, and though she had tried out for the Arrows, she wasn't good enough to go professional anymore.

Hermione had warned her about this witness. "The facts are black and white in her case, unfortunately," she had said as they sat in the library. "Draco did pass on the necklace to her via Madam Rosmerta, and Draco did put her life in great danger, and Katie did almost die a horrible death."

It came back to extreme duress again. Ginny argued that Draco had been sixteen at the time, and under pressure from the most evil wizard of modern memory to kill Dumbledore. Still, she knew her arguments sounded tired and weak even as she said them. The Wizengamot looked bored. One witch even yawned and looked at her nails as Ginny spoke, which made her heart lurch horribly.

But they had to listen to her. They had to believe her when she said that Draco was not a "bad person" like Padma had said; he was _good_, so good, and warm and friendly and loved by many. Ginny stifled her own yawn. She felt as though she hadn't slept in a hundred years, and her weariness was bone-deep. She wanted to sleep, safe in her bed with Draco's body curled around her, as the sun came up and greeted them in the early morning stillness.

But after Katie had stepped down, and returned to her seat where Oliver Wood wrapped her tightly in his arms and rubbed her back, Harper announced the next witness:

"The prosecution calls on Harry Potter."

Ginny blinked at her table, shaking away the cobwebs, in time to see Harry leave his seat and approach the stand. She had work to do.


	44. The VisualEyes

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Forty-Three – The Visual-Eyes**

In itself, Harry's verbal testimony was unremarkable. He related seeing Draco in the Room of Requirement as they sought Ravenclaw's Diadem, rescuing him from the Fiendfyre that had killed Crabbe, and later seeing him scuffle ineffectually with a Death Eater as he tried to prove he was still on the side of Tom Riddle. It served to paint a more complete picture of all the disparate events of the Battle of Hogwarts – even though they had barely scratched the surface of completely summarising everything that happened that night – but added nothing damning about Draco's crimes.

Ginny was utterly shocked. She would've thought Harry would take any opportunity to badmouth his old rival, but Harry was like Katie, calm and collected on the stand, so cool as to make Padma appear hysterical in comparison.

His testimony was primarily to keep track of Narcissa's wand. "I saw him with a wand in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts," Harry said at Harper's question. "He told me, when I asked him, that it was his mother's. At some point in our battle the wand fell and rolled under a pile of junk, and my friend, Hermione Granger-Weasley, fetched it as we escaped from the room some minutes later. She gave the wand back to Malfoy out of compassion, because she knew it would be a death sentence for him to go through Hogwarts unarmed. She pitied him."

This was said with an arrogant look in Draco's direction.

"Was that the last time you saw this wand?" Harper asked.

"No," Harry said. "Once the battle was over and Tom Riddle dead, I saw Narcissa Malfoy holding it."

When it was her turn, Ginny stood directly in front of Harry, hands clasped behind her back. "You are the sole living witness to Albus Dumbledore's death," she said, "aside from Draco Malfoy himself. What did you see of Mr Malfoy's conduct on that night?"

Harry gave Draco a sideways glance before responding. "He didn't have the stones to kill Dumbledore, even though Dumbledore was vulnerable and unarmed," Harry said bluntly.

"Then what makes you think he was able to kill Colin?"

"Because he was able to unfeelingly and recklessly endanger others' lives with the necklace and the poison," Harry said with a frown. "He did it so easily, too. So he wasn't able to outright kill someone at the end of our sixth year. Doesn't matter. I think he was fully capable of it by the night of the Battle of Hogwarts."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, remembering the stories she had heard from Ron and Hermione about their encounter with Draco at Malfoy Manor. "And what about when you had been captured by Snatchers during the war? Didn't you come across Mr Malfoy then?"

Harry's frown deepened. "Yes, I did."

"Explain to the Wizengamot what happened."

Harry raised his eyes to Kingsley's. "Ron, Hermione, and I were captured by Snatchers for saying Tom Riddle's name," he said, in a voice that sounded like it was being dragged out of him. "It was during the time when his name was Taboo. We were taken to Malfoy Manor to be tortured and questioned, until they noticed the scar on my forehead. Narcissa Malfoy asked Draco to identify me and he…didn't."

"Didn't?" Ginny pressed. "Why not? You were in the same year at Hogwarts. He had to know you."

"I don't know," Harry muttered. "I reckon he didn't recognise me. I'd been jinxed and hexed to hide my natural appearance."

"But you just said that they still noticed your scar," Ginny pointed out.

"His father Lucius did. Not Draco."

"And what about Ron and Hermione? Were they disguised at all?"

"No."

"Did Draco identify them?"

"No."

Ginny resisted the urge to stamp her foot. Harry knew exactly what she wanted him to say, and he flatly would not say it. "No more questions," she said, and she returned to her seat as Harry left his.

She felt like she was going in and out. Her lack of sleep the night before must have caught up with her, but there was still no excuse for nodding off during a Wizengamot session. When the court recessed for lunch, Ginny zoomed right for the Ministry cafeteria and ordered a coffee, which she sucked down at once.

Her family – what family members were there – and John joined her there. "The day's almost over," John assured her in a low voice, guiding her to a table. "Hang in there. Just a bit longer."

She smiled up at him as she took a seat beside her mother. "Thank you all for being here," she said meaningfully. "I had no idea that—"

"I told you we'd be here," Percy said crisply. "When do I lie?"

"Thanks so much, Perce," Ginny said, and she leaned across the table to squeeze his hand. He blushed and mumbled something about family support.

"But you!" she said, changing the subject and turning to Ron. "What's this about you dropping your charges? What happened? And why didn't you bloody _tell_ me what you were planning?"

Ron sighed. "I know," he said. "It was very last minute, but I'd been thinking about it for quite awhile, and Hermione and I talked about it too." He shifted in his seat, looking at Percy, who nodded. "We decided that my not pressing charges would help you gain credibility. You know, if it looked like we were on your side and all that rot."

"That's brilliant," Bill said, surprised. "Especially for you, that's really brilliant."

"Cheers," Ron said dryly.

"I delivered his retraction to Kingsley myself, early this morning," Percy announced. "I think it an excellent plan. So," he said, leaning forward, eyes bright. Ginny knew Percy loved politics, and studying the many ways the letter of the law could be interpreted or bent. "You've lasted through the verbal testimony. Are you ready for Yaxley's memory?"

"Yes," Ginny said confidently. "I've got plenty of precedents and facts to throw at them. I should be fine. I still don't understand, though, why his memory is even allowable?" She looked round at all of them. "Yaxley was a Death Eater. How can he be considered a credible witness?"

"His solicitor worked out a deal with the Wizengamot," Ron said, spitting the words. "Yaxley would give up everything he knew in exchange for a lessened sentence. He's still going to Azkaban for sixty years, but that's sixty instead of life."

"Yaxley was on the Board of Directors for St Mungo's before he joined Tom Riddle," Bill added. "I suppose that still commands some respect."

"Plus he's not raving like some of the others," their father pointed out. "That's why they aren't bringing Lestrange in to testify, isn't it? Yaxley's managed to keep his head despite the odds." He shook his own sadly. "It never ceases to shock me, the otherwise logical and rational witches and wizards persuaded to join the Death Eaters."

Conversation ebbed and flowed around her as they ate, covering what Dennis, Katie, Padma, and Harry had said on the stand, to how the Wizengamot must be reacting to their testimony. John ducked his head down to tell Ginny something in private while the rest of her family joked about Padma's theatrics.

"Simon sends his love and his apologies," John murmured to her. "He decided to go into work this morning, because the event yesterday with his father was…draining."

"I can imagine," Ginny said, smiling sadly. "I never would have asked so much of him had I known, but I appreciate so much what he did for Draco."

They all trekked back to the courtroom after the recess for lunch had ended, and Ginny resumed her seat at the defence table. All the Wizengamot courtiers trickled in from their own lunches, some chatting gaily about this and that as though they hadn't a care in the world, as if with a single word they didn't have the power to banish a young man to a life of anguish in a cold jail cell. Ginny shuddered at that thought and pushed it firmly away. The coffee she had drunk seemed to have helped restore her alertness, at least. She would be fully awake to witness the retrieval and viewing of Yaxley's memory.

The Visual-Eyes, formerly on the floor, had been set on a small table in the centre of the room, behind Draco's chair. A giant white silk screen extended from floor to high ceiling in front of it, ready to receive the projection of thoughts and memories for them all to see. Draco, brought in from his own lunch, was, Ginny saw, straining his neck to see the contraption, and a curious look was etched on his pale face.

Once the Wizengamot, spectators, and witnesses had been assembled, Kingsley banged his gavel once. "The afternoon session has been called to order," he said formally. "Our schedule shall consist of a Healer from St. Mungo's" – Ginny had spotted the lime-robed wizard when she sat down – "extracting at wandpoint a memory from Ophiuchus Canis Yaxley, regarding the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, which has been determined as the date of Colin Creevey's untimely and unnatural death. After the extraction has taken place, the memory retrieved shall be viewed by all present using the Visual-Eyes set up for our use." Kingsley looked around at his fellow courtiers. "At this point, all evidence submitted by the prosecution and the defence will have been presented, and the Wizengamot shall enter into deliberations concerning Draco Malfoy's fate. This is agreeable to all?"

A chorus of ayes followed his question. Kingsley then gestured to a guard-witch, and the doors leading down to the holding cells were thrown open. And there, for the first time in weeks, Ginny laid eyes on Yaxley. The man who held, in his cuffed hands, Draco's entire fate.

He was, as her father had said, still obviously possessed of his faculties. Though his clothes were worn, they were clean, and a tear at the hem had been meticulously mended. His long, light brown hair was swept away from his clean-shaven face, and his eyes glittered intensely, barely hiding a fierce intelligence. He was escorted to a small dais between Draco and Kingsley, and as he passed Draco he gave him a sardonic grin.

Draco, in his chains, stilled at once. A curious frown crossed his face, and Ginny watched him tilt his head to the side, considering the man before him. Draco had stared at everyone who had come forward in the trial, and Ginny knew it was because he was likely trying to remember who they were, but there was something off about his reaction to seeing Yaxley. She wondered what the difference was.

Yaxley, meanwhile, was now kneeling on the dais between his guard escort, and the Healer from the stands had descended to him.

"Healer Moss," Kingsley said, "please commence with the memory extraction."

The Healer nodded to him, then turned to Yaxley. "Be gentle, I'm delicate," Yaxley said, in an amused voice. Moss scowled darkly at him, then placed his wand to Yaxley's temple. Within moments, there was a gossamer, silky strand, glowing even in the bright courtroom, connected to the tip of Moss's wand and unspooling from Yaxley's head. It extended for nearly a foot before it ended, snipped off at the source.

Moss, seemingly unaware of the weight of the memory floating before them, glided past them all and went to the Visual-Eyes, where he inserted the tip of his wand into the back of the device. The Visual-Eyes clicked and hummed for a few moments, accepting the memory, then chimed cheerfully.

Kingsley nodded. "Healer Moss," he asked, "the memory is now in place and ready for viewing?"

"It is, Chief Warlock," Moss replied.

"Please remove Mr Yaxley," he ordered, and Yaxley was hustled out of the courtroom as quickly as he had been escorted in.

Ginny wasn't surprised to discover her hands had become clammy, and a small drip of cold sweat was meandering down the length of her back. She rubbed her hands on her robes, and took in a deep breath. Draco seemed to be doing the same thing. She only wished she could know what was going through his mind.

Once Healer Moss had returned to his seat, Kingsley used his own wand to cut the lights, and the Visual-Eyes sprang to life. Draco's chair rotated in place, and it was like one of those Muggle movie theatres, Ginny thought, with all of them settling in to watch the latest film release.

The memory began on a scene of some hallway in Hogwarts, where an eighteen-year-old Draco scuffled with a Death Eater. Ginny looked in amazement at his younger self: his pointed, haughty face, his fine robes, the fear in his gray eyes. There were the clothes he had been found in, the white Oxford shirt and plain black trousers, the shirt and his black school robe singed from the Fiendfyre and his bare arm painfully marred by a yet-untreated burn.

"I'm Draco Malfoy!" Draco's voice was higher than it was now, but unmistakably his. He fought against the masked Death Eater as though his very life depended on it. Perhaps it had. "I'm Draco, I'm on your side!"

Before the Death Eater could answer, three pairs of bodiless feet appeared in the hall; Ginny recognised the pair of scruffy trainers as Ron's. The Death Eater suddenly froze and fell to the floor stiff as a board, and Draco looked around him in profound relief. Then, abruptly, his head snapped back as an invisible fist hit him in the face. He stumbled over the Stunned Death Eater and fell on top of him, startled and momentarily senseless. As the feet shuffled away, Ginny clearly heard Ron shout over the melee, "And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!"

Something moved out from under the Invisibility Cloak and landed in Draco's lap just before the trio were completely out of sight. Draco stared at it before picking it up – his mother's wand. He touched the blood trickling from his mouth, then looked at his stained fingers before swinging his gaze back to the wand. He seemed at an utter loss as to what he should do.

Not a minute later Yaxley entered, also in his black death cloak, but with his hood thrown back and mask tilted up over his hair. "Young Malfoy," he said, "you would sit on your hands while the Dark Lord needs your help?"

Ginny, despite the fact that she knew what she watched was eight years past, still found herself thinking, _No, Draco! Don't listen to him!_

Draco looked up at Yaxley warily, through the curtain of his mussed blond fringe. "They don't think I'm loyal," he said, his voice full of obvious false bravado. "I had to fight off Travers just now. He tried to kill me."

Yaxley laughed richly, and kicked the Stunned Travers. "If he had wanted you dead, boy, we wouldn't be speaking now."

Draco shuddered, but pulled himself to a stand. "But _you_ know I follow the Dark Lord, don't you?" he implored anxiously. "I was the one who got the Death Eaters into Hogwarts last year, and helped kill Dumbledore. How else can I prove—" He choked up, and his eyes burned with a thousand emotions. "How do I prove my loyalty?"

Yaxley studied him in amusement for the space of a blink. "Ah, loyalty," he said. "If it is real, it does not need to be proven."

"But they won't believe me!" Draco cried petulantly, stamping his foot like a child. "I'll prove it, and then they will know!"

A jet of coloured light shot over their heads, ruffling Yaxley's cloak. "We must fly, young Malfoy," he said. "You will prove to me your worth as a Death Eater, and then you will never be doubted again."

There was an ominous note to Yaxley's voice that Draco seemed to miss in his eagerness. The two of them left the corridor, running past duelling pairs and dodging to avoid whatever disgusting things Peeves was throwing down at them from above. Hogwarts was in chaos, with the dull rumble of explosions in the distance as the ancient castle walls burst open, spilling forth more Death Eaters, or Acromantulas, or any number of terrifying things.

They came, as expected, to Colin Creevey.

Yaxley stopped quite abruptly in midstride to look down an intersecting corridor, and there was tiny Colin, miraculously alive, standing on the fringes of a heated battle between MacNair and a fearsome, magnificent Percy. Percy was flinging curses without pausing, slicing his wand through the air with a deadly grace like a conductor leading an orchestra. One of the lenses in his glasses was missing, and a cut marred his cheek below it. MacNair didn't stand a chance.

"That's for Fred!" he screeched, his voice frayed and raw, sending the Death Eater flying back. "And that! For my brother, you heartless killer!" Colin watched, his eyes wide in fear and admiration, for Percy was truly a sight to behold.

His back, unfortunately, was to Yaxley and Draco. Yaxley sneered, then waved his wand at Colin. Taken by surprise, Colin was suddenly bound by a coiling length of rope, which Yaxley used to drag him away from Percy and the other Order members who were fighting farther up the corridor. Colin, to his credit, struggled the entire way, but in his surprise he had lost his wand; Ginny saw it on the floor a few yards away from Percy's feet.

With another flick of his wrist, Yaxley unbound Colin and Crucio'd him in the same movement. A pained mutter rose from the courtroom at the sound of Colin's screams, and Ginny bit down hard on her lip. Draco, in the memory, stepped back from Colin's flailing limbs, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Ginny could see, at that very moment, that Draco knew what Yaxley would ask of him.

Yaxley ended the Crucio, and turned to Draco. "Have you ever used an Unforgiveable?" he asked, as though discussing the weather.

"Of course I have," Draco forced out.

"Prove it."

Draco hesitated for only a second, before he raised his mother's wand. "_C-Crucio_," he said, and Colin flopped on the floor, again wracked by pain, but not as violently as he had under Yaxley's wand.

"More!" Yaxley urged him, a sinister gleam in his eyes. "You have to want it, boy!"

"_Crucio!_" Draco said, with slightly more confidence, and Colin again thrashed in the throes of agony.

"Try something else," Yaxley said, grinning at him. "Mix it up. What's your favourite curse?"

Draco's grin matched his, even as tears poured down his face unchecked. "I like this one," he said, and Colin started clawing at his throat, as though he were choking. His face went an alarming shade of red.

"Good!" Yaxley said, slapping Draco's back. "Lucius has taught you well after all."

A sob escaped Draco's lips, but he kept at it. Ginny watched in horror as he went through an entire schoolboy's arsenal of middling curses and hexes, all aimed at poor Colin. At some point, she saw Dennis hustling his parents out of the courtroom, with Mrs Creevey barely able to walk straight without the support of her husband and son. Ginny's heart wrenched, and she was amazed that they had stayed to watch as much as they had.

After what seemed far too long, Yaxley in the memory waved Draco back. Colin was sobbing uncontrollably by now, begging for mercy and his life, and no one in the Order had yet noticed his plight. It was impossible that they would have, for Ginny could hear Percy shouting still in the distance, and she was sure others were similarly detained. "You know what you need to do now," Yaxley said.

"What?" Draco cried, swinging his head around to gape at him. "You mean kill him? I've never used the Killing Curse on a person before. I can't do it!"

"You can and will," Yaxley commanded. "He's a disgusting Mudblood, polluting our world with his mere presence. He's not one of us. They never should have allowed him to attend Hogwarts."

Draco looked at Colin on the floor, his wand extended before him. Colin was too insensible to notice what was happening.

"Want it, boy," Yaxley said, staring at him intently. "He stole magic from good, pureblood wizards like you and me. He is less than you. He is filth, scum. He has committed a crime against the Wizarding world, and deserves to pay for it. _He needs to die_."

"I can't do it," Draco said, more tears filling his eyes. "Anything but that."

"You are capable of it, I know you are!" Yaxley urged him. "I've seen what you can do. You aren't a Mudblood lover, are you?"

"No," Draco spat. "Never. They don't belong with us."

"There it is," Yaxley said. "Use your conviction. He is not a true wizard. Eliminate him!"

The Draco in his twenties, the one in front of her, had stopped watching ages ago. His head was bent as low as it could go, secured as he was by the chains, his eyes squeezed shut, and he was muttering under his breath.

But the teenage Draco in the memory, the one who just wanted to feel accepted and secure, raised his wand despite the tears streaming from his eyes. There was a furious, horrified, shocked look on his face, as though he couldn't believe what he was doing yet was determined to do it to the best of his ability.

Ginny couldn't believe it either. _No_, she pleaded, _don't do it, don't…_

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Draco sobbed, pointing his wand.

Colin's body jerked one final time then lay motionless, exactly as it had when Juliet Sanderson had done Prior Incantatem on Narcissa's wand.

The screen went dark at once, and Ginny blinked to help her eyes adjust as the regular lights came back up. The courtroom was utterly silent, the only sound being the grinding of Draco's chair as it rotated back to its former position. Draco still hadn't looked up, and his lips still moved with his frantic muttered words. Ginny wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, what he was doing. Dr Walcott had said that he'd taught Draco stress management techniques, and it was almost certain that the Battle of Hogwarts had been the stimulus that brought about his dissociative fugue – he must have been using one of those techniques.

"This court is now adjourned," Kingsley said at long last. "The Wizengamot will now retire to discuss the evidence presented, and will determine a verdict. We will recommence in two days' time." He tapped his gavel against his desk.

Ginny made a beeline for Draco before the guards came to take him away, and knelt before him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm – well – maybe," he stuttered, blinking down at his knees. "I need to meditate. I need quiet."

"You'll get it," Ginny soothed him, wishing she could touch him without arousing suspicion. "It will be quiet in your cell."

He looked up at her then, his gray eyes wide. "That was me," he whispered. "That was really me. I did it. Bloody hell."

"Don't think about it, do your meditation—"

"And I recognised him, the man," Draco went on, jutting his chin out towards where Yaxley had knelt. "I've met him before, and that certainly wasn't the name he gave me then. I'd remember a name like Ophiuchus Yaxley."

Ginny's jaw dropped, and her heart skipped a beat. "What? You mean—"

"I'm trying to recall," Draco said, worrying his lip between his teeth.

The two guards came forward then, and started undoing the chains. "Think hard, Draco," Ginny said urgently, "think very—"

"What do you think I'm doing?" he snapped. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I know, but I just can't – my memory isn't as good as it probably was – oh!" He straightened as the guards helped him to his feet, and even though his hands were still bound, he tried to reach for her. "Paris!"

"You met him in Paris?"

"He called himself Richards," Draco said, as the guards started leading him away; Ginny trotted to stay with him. His words sped up the closer they came to the way out. "Yes, last night I was looking through the scrapbook John sent – there's pictures in there of my trip to Paris, when I was learning how to cook, when I was living in Montmartre – there's photos of him in there that you can use as proof, but the guards took it away from me when they saw it, they said I wasn't allowed to have any personal items besides clothes."

They reached the door. Before he disappeared down the stairs, Draco swivelled round one last time. "The scrapbook," he said.

"The scrapbook," Ginny repeated. She remembered bringing it with his luggage. It would probably be in the guards' station, down by the holding cells, if it had been confiscated.

"Look for him in Paris," Draco said, and then he was being forced down the steps, and the door shut behind them.


	45. Grand Adventure

**A/N:** DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Forty-Four – Grand Adventure**

When Ginny turned she found John striding towards her, a concerned look on his face. "Is he all right?" he asked, nodding at where Draco had vanished.

"He needs a calm spot to meditate," Ginny said. "But John, he's seen Yaxley, and not from before his fugue state."

"Really?" John said, raising his eyebrows, and he listened as Ginny told him what Draco had said about looking through his scrapbook.

"Good God," he said abruptly, stopping her near the end of her story. His tan face had gone white. "The bastard already knew."

"What? Who?"

"Bloomin' Kinky," John said, sounding amused and angry at the same time. "When I was packing that suitcase of clothes for Draco, Kinky suggested that I send the scrapbook along too. I couldn't see why, since Draco didn't particularly spend a lot of time looking at it, but he insisted."

"Merlin," Ginny breathed. "And Simon told me that he already Saw what Draco's verdict will be—"

"I'll wring his neck," John said grudgingly. "I know he can't tell us what he Sees, but – bloomin' Kinky. It's no fun being mates with someone who knows the future."

"I have to get that scrapbook back," Ginny said. "There's no time to waste, I have to get to it before the Wizengamot decides."

"And considering what we just saw, they might be very quick to their decision," John agreed ruefully, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I never would have guessed that Draco would have done it. Not in a million years."

"I know. I have to go."

"Do what you must," John said. "Be strong. Owl us if you need absolutely anything at all, don't hesitate."

"I will." She hugged him tightly, then went with him to where her family waited.

"Is everything all right?" Percy asked. His face was a bit pink, as was Ron's, she assumed from seeing themselves playing such prominent parts in Yaxley's memory. George was standing close to Percy, his eyes brighter than usual.

"There might be new evidence," Ginny said in a rush. "I have to look for something, and I might have to go to Paris. Tonight."

"Tonight?" Molly echoed, flabbergasted. "But Ginny, you'd never be able to get a Portkey in—"

"She could if I pulled some strings," Percy mused aloud, plucking at his lips. "I'll see what I can do."

Ginny launched herself at her brother and hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered. "How is your French?"

"I'm fluent, of course," Percy replied. "Touch of a Belgian accent, but—"

"Then get a Portkey for two," she said, pulling back. "My French is perfectly lousy. You'll be my interpreter." She turned to Ron next. "I need to get to the guards' station down in the holding cells."

"I have a set of keys in my office," Ron said at once.

"I'm sorry to dash off like this," she said to the rest of them, "I really am, but I have—"

"No time to waste," Molly finished, businesslike. "Let's be off then. George? Arthur?" She bustled them away, but stayed behind to give Ginny a quick hug.

"Thanks, Mum," Ginny murmured into her shoulder.

"He's the one, isn't he?" Molly asked, pulling slightly away. "The man you love? The man who loves you?"

Ginny started. "How—"

"A mother always knows," she said, a twinkle in her eye. She smiled. "You always did go for the troubled souls, didn't you?"

"No one else would fight for him," Ginny insisted. "No one else cared."

"But you do. I can see it." Molly patted her shoulder and backed away. "Go fight for him, then, dear. I won't stand in your way."

Ginny hugged her mother one last time, then raced after Ron through the Ministry and back up to the Auror Department. It was as unchanged as the day she tendered her resignation, but she had no time to marvel at that. Ron wrenched open an untidy drawer in his desk, fished through it until he found a ring of rusty iron keys, and handed them off to her.

"What if this all comes to nothing?" he abruptly asked her.

Ginny, who was already halfway out his door, paused and turned. "What?"

"You saw the memory," Ron said. "He did it, Gin. He's going to go to Azkaban for a long time."

She released a desperate laugh. "This is my fight, Ron," she said. "It's not over yet."

He just shook his head. "Fine," he said, as she bolted through the department, "go if you must!"

It seemed to take years before the rickety lift deposited her on the lowest level of the Ministry. Ginny hurtled down the corridor, took the stairs down to the holding cells, and made a sharp right before the barred doorway beyond which Draco and Yaxley were imprisoned. The room a short distance beyond was bright and cheerful, a cosy little break area where the guards could chat and eat in their free time. Three were in there now, sitting around a chipped wooden table with tea when Ginny burst in.

"Hello," one said, her eyes wide. The others just stared. "Er, can we—"

Ginny blew past them to the corner, where a narrow closet lurked next to the sink. She sorted through the key ring until she found the one that fit, and unlocked it. Inside were rickety shelves, stacked with banned books, dangerous objects, and other items confiscated from prisoners. On top, fresh and like new, was Draco's scrapbook.

"Oi," the female guard said. Ginny heard her chair scrape on the stone floor. "You can't go in there."

"Oh yes I can," Ginny shot back over her shoulder. "_Henley v Dodderson_, 1823. 'Evidence may be submitted to the Wizengamot up to and including just before they announce a final verdict.'"

"But—"

"_Spottiswoode v Department of Games and Sports_, 1705. 'All evidence, no matter the means by which it was procured, barring that extracted via torture or extreme methods, is valid and will be considered by the Wizengamot,'" Ginny rattled off, her patience wearing thin. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm in a frightful hurry just now."

"Well yes, of course," the guard-witch said, thoroughly chastened.

Ginny grabbed the scrapbook and locked the closet door behind her once again. She dashed back down the corridor, into the lift, and burst out into the lobby the moment the grille clattered open.

All around her, Ministry employees wandered to and fro, arriving and leaving via the hearths that lined the walls, discussing the news, weather, and Quidditch scores, or heading off to the cafeteria for lunch. Ginny sat down on the rim of the basin that surrounded Dumbledore's statue, and started flipping through the scrapbook, oblivious to the world around her.

The pages were unadorned save for the motionless Muggle photographs, but each was labelled with Draco's distinctive, elegant handwriting. _Departing on my grand adventure_, was the first one, a picture of a younger Draco with his arms round Simon and John, all of them grinning. They appeared to be at King's Cross, standing in front of a Muggle train. She flipped past it.

The pictures progressed from those of the English countryside, Brighton, the Chunnel, the Continent, and became vistas of Italy. Restaurants, food markets, people Draco had encountered on his "grand adventure;" Ginny even saw some of the shop owners she had questioned in the photos, smiling statically. But she flipped past Milan and Florence as well.

Paris occupied the last third of the scrapbook, and Ginny slowed down to study each picture in turn. She studied every person who appeared, even those she could barely see in the background, wishing desperately that they were Wizarding photos so she could just push the front ones aside and call up the ones in the rear.

She needn't have studied the photos so hard after all. Ginny was about halfway through the Paris photos when she turned a page and saw Yaxley staring up at her in four different places.

She started, as though the man were actually in front of her, and looked again. A smiling Draco, wearing a dishevelled chef's tunic and apron, stood shaking hands with a clean, polished Yaxley. Though Draco had his sleeves rolled up, Yaxley's were both down and buttoned at the wrist. He wore Muggle clothing, as easily as any real Muggle.

The caption read, _My first critic and fan._

Ginny gaped. She looked at the next photo, of Draco and Yaxley sitting and drinking wine together at a tiny café table. _Good wine and better company_. The other two photos were similar, both also prominently featuring one O.C. Yaxley.

When she turned the page, Yaxley vanished just as suddenly as he'd appeared.

That café – that was the one Ginny had gone to in Montmartre, where the reports had said that Draco would stop by in the mornings for Orangina and an omelette. The café proprietor had said something to her about – what was it? When she had asked about Draco, he had seemed agitated and annoyed at being disturbed, and it had taken a long time for Ginny to get him to talk. Why?

Percy appeared beside her, two ticket folders in his hands. "Three o'clock this afternoon," he said simply.

"I need a Pensieve," was her reply.

Percy ushered her up into his office, on the floor where the Minister of Magic's private staff and their assistants had their offices. Ginny saw the door that said _Hiram Kincaid, Senior Undersecretary_, just across the corridor, but it was closed and no light shone underneath.

"What's this all about, then?" Percy asked. Unlike Ron, whose office was a mess, Percy's quarters were pristine, all flat surfaces sparkling as though they had been polished just moments earlier. He went right to a tall cabinet behind his desk and opened it; Ginny saw the Pensieve on the top shelf.

In response, Ginny opened up the scrapbook and lay it flat on the table to the page that showcased Yaxley. When he turned and saw the photos, Percy gulped and almost dropped the Pensieve.

"Dear bloody Merlin's short pants," he gasped.

"I need to remember the night I interviewed him" – she pointed to the café owner – "because I think he said something important."

He gestured to the glowing basin, now sitting on the corner of his desk, and Ginny got to work. Muttering the spell and thinking as hard as she could about that day in Paris, she carefully extracted the memory, a glittering thread, and dropped it into the Pensieve. The liquid inside swirled at once, and they both bent over to see Ginny and the haughty Frenchman arguing, weeks earlier.

"Just give me a yes or no," Ginny said angrily in the memory. "Have you seen this man?" She waved the photo of Draco.

"I 'ave answered this question enough," the owner said, looking down his nose at her. "I 'ave not seen him since ze last time. You buy _un café_, or you go."

"Oh my," Percy said, eyes wide with excitement. He looked up at her. " 'I have answered this question enough.' A peculiar thing to say. Very peculiar."

"Who else would be asking after Draco besides the British Ministry?" Ginny agreed, her mind spinning. "Sturgis Podmore was originally on the case, and then I came by and questioned everyone again a few months ago. That's a gap of five or six years, and nothing to get hot and bothered about. I don't know why it didn't strike me at the time."

"Someone else was asking about Draco," Percy said.

"Yaxley was," Ginny said, pointing to the photos. "He was looking for him as well, and he found him. He would've realised at once that Draco didn't know who he was and didn't remember anything. So what did he want? Why did he stick around? And they were on the same side in the war – why didn't he tell Draco who he really was?"

"Ginny – this is huge," Percy said in awe. "This casts serious doubt onto that memory Yaxley displayed for the Wizengamot."

"I know it does." She couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice. "But is it even possible to alter memories? The job would have to be seamless. You were there, it looked real."

"It's only happened once since the Visual-Eyes was invented," Percy admitted. "It takes true strength of mind to rearrange one's memories, or to at least change events in order to convince others."

"But then he could have," Ginny breathed, mind spinning. "You heard Dad. Yaxley's still all there, he didn't go mad like the others. He looked shockingly sane."

Percy looked at the clock on the wall. "We've got to head to Transportation," he said crisply. "Our Portkey is leaving soon. Do you have everything you need to question the proprietor of that café?"

Ginny glanced at the scrapbook, and hesitated only a moment before ripping out one of the photos of Yaxley, the one that gave the clearest view of his face. "Now I do," she said.

Percy returned the Pensieve to his cabinet, locked it up, then escorted her out of the Ministerial staff offices and down to the Department of Transportation. He nodded formally at the wizard seated at the reception desk and flashed their tickets at him to gain entrance to the offices beyond without stopping; Ginny trailed behind. He headed down one of several branching hallways with a sense of purpose that heartened her, making her forget for a moment that she was exhausted and only wanted to sleep.

He stopped at an ajar office door and tapped against it with his knuckles. "Tricia?" A smile had come to Percy's face, softening the usually severe and serious lines of his mouth. Ginny entered the office behind him and saw Patricia Stimpson seated behind her desk, smiling back at him, and remembered with a start that they were seeing each other.

"Back so soon, Perce?" Patricia asked. It was clear she adored Percy, a sight that made Ginny's heart swell for her brother.

He went around behind her desk and kissed her lightly. "The Portkey activates in less than thirty minutes," he said. "Thanks very much for arranging it for us."

"Not at all," she said. "Anything to help."

Percy blinked, and gestured to Ginny. "I'm sorry. Tricia, this is my sister, Ginny Weasley. Gin, Patricia Stimpson, my partner."

Patricia stood and shook Ginny's hand. "Percy talks about you all the time," she said, smiling warmly. "He's terribly proud of you, you know."

Ginny and Percy both blushed. "It's lovely to finally meet you," Ginny said. "Thank you so much for your help. I thought it would be impossible to get visas for France on such short notice."

"Well, this is for the trial of a Death Eater, isn't it?" Patricia said. "The whole Wizarding world is following the story. I simply told our ambassador in Paris that it was related to Draco Malfoy's criminal trial, and he cut through the red tape with astonishing speed." She looked to Percy. "Remind me to send Stanley a fruit basket, would you?"

"Of course." He kissed her again, and started heading out. "We've got a Portkey to catch, then, love. I'll see you later."

"It was wonderful meeting you, Ginny," Patricia said. They smiled at each other, then Percy hustled Ginny out of the office and down the corridor.

The Portkey Deployment Room was at the very end of the hall, a large, airy room lined on one side with fake windows that let sunshine pour in. A few other small groups of people were already waiting around Portkeys, chatting with each other and carrying shrunken pieces of luggage. Percy showed their ticket folders to the Transportation official on duty, who checked over their visas and directed them to an old copper pot with a hole in the bottom, lying on a small round table. "Three o'clock to Paris," he said in a bored voice. "The Portkey will activate soon, so be aware of the time."

Percy and Ginny arranged themselves around the table, and moments before the clock in the room struck three, touched their fingers to the copper pot. The familiar feeling of being hooked behind the navel came promptly, and before she knew it they were at the English Wizarding embassy in France. Another attendant marked their arrival on a clipboard.

"Right," Percy said, briskly escorting her out of the building with an ease that belied his familiarity with the building. "I am a government official, and as such I should be on the side of the Wizarding public in this trial. However" – and at this, he removed his Ministry robes, revealing a Muggle suit underneath – "since I am also an interpreter, that is the capacity in which I'm here today."

"You aren't going to pull a Hiram Kincaid on me?" Ginny said dryly. She removed her own robes and straightened the Muggle blouse and trousers she had on underneath.

Percy winced. "There are times when I am proud to be a pureblood," he said simply, "and times when I am not."

They stuffed their robes into a locker on the ground floor of the embassy, and Percy pocketed the key before they stepped out into a bustling Paris street. Ginny led the way once she worked out where they were, not paying attention to the crowds, the shops, the Muggle traffic around them. She didn't look up until they passed under the arched sign that meant that they had at last reached the famous 18th arrondissement known as Butte-Montmartre. Percy was only a step behind her.

"In the name of efficiency," he said, "since you don't speak a word of the language, why don't you tell me what you want to ask, give me that picture of Yaxley, and let me do all the talking?"

"He might recognise me," Ginny agreed, "and he might refuse to talk at all if he sees me. I wasn't exactly nice to him, I'll admit it."

"Quite," Percy said dryly. "So you go stand on the other side of the street, once you've pointed him out to me."

Ginny gave him the photo she'd torn from Draco's scrapbook and showed him the café when they were still a block away. Knowing how particular Percy was, she gave him exactly the questions he needed to ask. Given his destination and his task, Percy straightened importantly, adjusted his suit, and sloped off, his lanky frame disappearing into the crowds on the pavement until only his red hair occasionally poked out high above everyone else's heads.

Now there was nothing but for her to wait. Ginny, feeling tired again, went to a different café and bought another coffee, and she sipped it while she waited. Her mind spun as she wondered if Percy had found the proprietor yet, and if he was more willing to talk to someone else than to her. Percy was a skilled diplomat, and was often sent on international summits in the name of the Minister of Magic. If there was anyone who could charm a man into giving up his secrets, it was Percy Weasley.

And if he found something useful? Ginny took a deep breath, another sip of coffee, and started making a mental checklist. Whatever he found, Percy wouldn't be able to take the stand because of his Ministry position. There were laws in place that said he didn't have to testify against his own family, but none that allowed him to speak against the Ministry. Draco would need to speak in his own defence, and tell the Wizengamot about his prior relationship with Yaxley – whatever the extent of it was. From the number of photographs in the scrapbook, plus the captions underneath them, Yaxley had dined on Draco's dishes more than once while in Paris, and they had struck up something a bit more than the kind of passing friendship people developed with fellow travellers in foreign countries. Yaxley himself would then have to speak about the memory he had shown.

It had to be fake. A shudder ran down Ginny's spine despite the warm sun, and she cradled her hot coffee in her hands. She couldn't believe for a moment that Draco had killed Colin, because it just didn't add up in her head. But she remembered what Percy had told her when Yaxley first accused Draco of being the killer, a few months earlier: the public was not on their side. Seeing that memory that showed him killing Colin Creevey would only solidify the already assumed guilt in the minds of the Wizengamot. It would be an uphill battle trying to convince them otherwise.

She thought of Draco. How well he was bearing up under the weight of scrutiny, persecution, and the palpable prejudice of some of the courtiers. There had been hours of darkness, of course, but he remained strong, his mind intact, his resolve set. If he could withstand the swirling tide of fate that threatened to drag him under, then so could she. There was no other option for her. She had to go on.

It seemed like hours before she saw Percy heading towards her again. She spotted his noticeable hair first, then his freckled face underneath, weaving through the dense crowds as the evening time rush started to fill the streets and cafes with chatty, pleasantly drunk diners.

Ginny left a few folded Euros on the table and stood immediately, heart pounding. She met Percy at the kerb, and he handed her back the photo of Yaxley. The former Death Eater leered at her until she tucked him into her back pocket.

"And?" she said, hardly daring to breathe.

"And now I know why Ron told me you were one of the best Aurors they had," Percy said, grinning proudly. "You've hit the jackpot, Ginny. Have I got a story to tell you."


	46. Cassandra's Curse

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all save Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Forty-Five – Cassandra's Curse**

As Percy was, and likely always would be, a stickler for the rules, he told her that they couldn't speak freely where they were. "We're surrounded," he said, looking meaningfully at the Muggles that swarmed the streets and filled them with gay, light-hearted laughter and conversation. "We'll need to speak somewhere privately."

"Then let's hurry up about it, because I'm just about to burst," Ginny rushed, and she grabbed his hand and tugged him down the street the way they had come. They returned to the Wizarding Embassy, where he retrieved their robes once again from their locker, and gave their return passes to the witch who watched over the Portkeys.

The witch's eyebrows rose when she saw the timestamp. "All the way from London just for a two hours' visit?" she asked, sounding overly curious.

"There's this bistro near the Champs-Elysees that we both love," Percy said, lying so easily that Ginny blinked in surprise. "I treated my little sister for her birthday."

"How sweet," the witch said, thankfully already losing interest. "Well, go on then, there's two openings on our next Portkey."

Though she tried to get him to talk, Percy remained closed-mouthed until they landed back in London, and the entire time it took for them to walk to his office. Once inside, he took his time locking and warding the room against prying eyes and ears.

"Well?" Ginny demanded, unable to wait any longer. "What did he say?"

"Many things," Percy said, plucking thoughtfully at his lips again. "Just a moment."

He went into another cupboard behind his desk and pulled out a full tea service, and Ginny squirmed as he set about making them tea. He was doing this on purpose. He _knew _how important this was. Never before had she wanted to hex one of her brothers so badly, not even when they were younger and Ron was being a prat to her.

"Right," he said at last, once he had set two steaming teacups down on the desk in front of each of them. "I had to organise my thoughts."

"If you don't start talking in five seconds, I swear—"

"Monsieur Chamonix was very helpful to me," Percy began, sipping his tea. "I told him I was an investigator looking for a missing person, and I showed him the photo of Yaxley. He started talking at once."

"He remembered him," Ginny said eagerly.

"Quite clearly," he replied. "But it doesn't start with him, it starts with Draco. Draco used to work at the little restaurant across the street, but he would come by every morning to have an omelette at M Chamonix's cafe and talk about food. Chamonix adored him and sounded like he was still upset that Draco left, which is likely why he was so shirty with you. Draco was around for about five months and then he just up and left with very little warning. While he was there, that was when Yaxley started hanging about."

Ginny reached for a blank scroll of parchment on his desk and a quill pen from the stand nearby. As she scribbled down some notes, she said, "This was after he went to Italy, yeah? Six years ago?"

"Yes," Percy confirmed. "Draco was working as a line cook at A La Mode for about six weeks when Yaxley showed up, calling himself Owen Richards. Chamonix made no mention of how he was dressed, so I presume he was garbed convincingly as a Muggle. He claimed to be staying at a hotel nearby, and was looking for some good French food. Chamonix was telling him about all the best restaurants in Montmartre when Draco came by for his morning omelette. According to Chamonix, Yaxley and Draco hit it off at once."

"I bet they did," Ginny said with a snort. "What would have been running through Yaxley's mind then? He's been on the run from the Ministry for about one or two years at that point, having barely escaped Hogwarts with his life after the battle. Then, out of the blue, he sees someone he believes to be a fellow fugitive. He would probably want to know if Draco had heard from any other Death Eaters, or knew anything about anyone else getting caught," she thought aloud, making a note. "He would have waited until they were alone and asked about the others."

"And Draco would have had no idea what he was talking about," Percy said, "which would have confused Yaxley."

"He would press and press," Ginny continued, "but Draco would know nothing, recognise nothing he was saying. Eventually Yaxley would have to realise that Draco didn't remember anything. And then he stuck around anyway." Ginny frowned down at her parchment, confused.

"Chamonix guessed that Yaxley came by daily for about three weeks," Percy told her. "He'd linger in the area until Draco was done with his shift and they'd talk and drink wine until late at night."

"Talk about what?"

Percy chuckled. "I asked the same question, and Chamonix said he never eavesdropped on people. They were speaking in English and his isn't that good. I gave him a look and he eventually confessed that they would talk about food, but mostly Yaxley asked Draco a lot of questions about himself. Chamonix thought he was very nosy."

"To determine the extent of his memory loss," Ginny realised.

"I assumed something similar," Percy agreed. "Whenever Draco turned the tables and asked questions about him, Yaxley told him a vague story about being a wealthy speculator looking into investing in a vineyard somewhere in Bordeaux. No matter what he asked, though, Yaxley always managed to get Draco back to talking about himself, until Draco finally revealed that he – well, Chamonix didn't know the term 'dissociative fugue', because he didn't know the equivalent in French, but he knew that something traumatic had happened to him that gave him amnesia. Draco told Yaxley all about it."

"And Yaxley left Paris not long after," Ginny guessed.

"Got it in one," Percy said grimly. "So Yaxley has known about the dissociative fugue for six years, and he never told anyone about it. And that's not all." Percy leaned across the desk. "About a year later, when Draco would have been back here in London with those roommates of his, Yaxley went back to Chamonix asking where he was. Chamonix just told him he'd moved on, and Yaxley went away. But then he came back every year or two, asking about Draco."

"That's why M Chamonix was so upset when I came by," Ginny said breathlessly. "Yaxley had been pestering him for years already."

"Perhaps to see if he still had amnesia?" Percy wondered.

Ginny scribbled out more notes. "Yaxley is sharp, calculating, and ruthless," she said. "We determined a few years ago that towards the end he was very highly placed in Tom Riddle's hierarchy, and he planned lots of their raids and attacks. For someone who didn't trust anyone, Riddle put a surprising amount of trust in him. We even looked at Yaxley's Hogwarts records, and he left with eleven N.E.W.T.s. Got Os on all of them."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Reckon the one he didn't take was Muggle Studies?"

"Got it in one," Ginny said with a dry smile. "So knowing that about him – while he was on the run after the Battle of Hogwarts, he discovers that one of his compatriots remembers absolutely nothing of his past. He then attempts to keep track of him over the next six years. Draco isn't the only one Yaxley kept track of either; we have written testimony from several other former Death Eaters that Yaxley 'checked in' on them from time to time." Ginny scowled. "He was planning in advance. He had already decided that if he was caught, he would arm himself with as much knowledge as he could to bring down the rest of them with him."

"With his background in healing, I wonder why he didn't try to cure Draco's amnesia," Percy mused.

Ginny was about to agree, but the words stuck in her throat as a thought occurred to her. Yes, why _didn't_ Yaxley try to cure his amnesia? Because having Draco not remember everything was more beneficial to him, she realised at once. "Draco could help Yaxley," she murmured. "His lack of memory – Percy, of all the Death Eaters tried after the war, only the Malfoys escaped Azkaban."

"On Harry's testimony," Percy pointed out, but Ginny waved that aside.

"They walked where everyone else was sentenced," she said. "They were allowed to return to their lives, their properties, they even still had their bank accounts. No one else was granted the same clemency. Yaxley – Yaxley could have been jealous. The Malfoys could start over, while he and the other Death Eaters were either locked up or forced into hiding."

"Draco wouldn't remember anything," Percy said slowly, catching on.

"And so if Yaxley pinned him with some crime he was sure no one else had witnessed, no one would be the wiser," Ginny finished. Her heart was pounding so fast she could scarcely discern one beat from the next. "Yaxley would go to Azkaban no matter what, but he could still have his revenge against Lucius."

Percy must have seen the dangerous flash of hope in her eyes, for he leaned across his desk and reached for her hand. "I know it all points that way," he said quickly, "but I don't think you understand just how difficult it is to fake memories. I told you, only one wizard has ever managed it before."

"But Harry told me about a memory of Slughorn's he saw once," Ginny insisted. "He said the entire thing was altered—"

"Badly, I know the story," Percy said. "I meant to alter a memory so that there was no doubt of its authenticity. The one we saw looked real." He touched her parchment. "The more likely scenario, operating on the basis of the memory being real, is what you already said. Yaxley learned about the dissociative fugue and reckoned Draco wasn't a threat to him or any other fugitive Death Eaters. So he went back on the run and occasionally checked back in Paris until he was caught a few months ago. Knowing that he would be put away for a long time, Yaxley reached for every bit of information in his power to lessen his sentence in any way that he could." Percy hesitated. "It fits perfectly with what we know, especially since it was Yaxley's tip that led to Travers and Lestrange. The only reason he didn't lead the Ministry to Draco was because you claimed to already be on his trail."

Ginny sank back in her seat, forcing herself to keep breathing. When she spoke her voice was level and calm. "Nevertheless," she said slowly, "I think that this situation sheds enough doubts onto Yaxley's memory that it should be brought to the attention of the Wizengamot."

"Of course," Percy conceded.

"Which is what I plan to do," she said. "They need to see the photo of Yaxley and listen to Draco's testimony."

Percy glanced up at the clock. "Well, it's too late to do that today," he said. "The Wizengamot never stays past six, even when the case is an important one."

Ginny frowned. "Please tell me you aren't serious."

"Deadly," he said, chuckling. "There are too many courtiers who are esteemed and respected members of Wizarding society – Hiram Kincaid being one example – and as such they use that to their own purposes. They did their time when they were younger, they reckon, so they don't have to work as hard anymore."

"Oh Merlin," she huffed. "Then I'm going to take my notes home and organise my new argument."

"An excellent idea," Percy agreed. "And get some sleep, would you? You look about to fall over."

"Yes, Dad," Ginny teased. She kissed her brother on the cheek and gave him a quick hug before she made her way out of his office and out of the Ministry. The night was cool when she stepped into the street, and she pulled her Muggle jacket a bit closer.

Everything rested on tomorrow. Kingsley had said that they wouldn't deliver their verdict and sentence until the day after that, but tomorrow was still important. The Wizengamot had had all afternoon today to convince themselves that Draco was guilty, and now she would have to, somehow, completely reverse their decision and change their minds.

On a sudden whim, Ginny altered course as she walked down the sidewalk and ducked into a red telephone booth. Setting her bag down on the ground, she flipped through the phone book chained to the counter until she found the number and address for the _Guardian_. Whispering the number and street to herself, Ginny left the booth and ducked into a narrow alley where she waited for a double-decker bus to roar past to cover the sound of her Apparating.

The _Guardian_'s offices were still bustling despite the hour, with about half its staff working to meet deadlines for the next day's morning edition. The place was so thoroughly Muggle – spare, postmodern, with no paper airplane memos or owls flying about, or explosions coming from cubicles – that Ginny felt like she'd stepped into another world. The receptionist downstairs had told her that this was the floor where the Football Department worked, but now that she was here, Ginny despaired of ever actually finding Simon.

Gathering her wits, Ginny started circling the room, seeing that the outer walls were lined with doors, leading to private offices. She knew Simon was Head Copy Editor, so she reckoned he would be one of the lucky ones, an assumption that proved to be true when she found an open door with _Simon D. Kincaid_ on a name plate on it. The rest of the door was covered in stickers, rosettes, and news clippings of the West Ham Football Club, as well as a few pictures of Simon, John, and Draco at West Ham matches, their faces painted and ale in hand.

Someone else was already in his office when she entered. "You're killin me here, mate," Simon said to the young reporter across from him. "Beardsley needs this side bar for the Man U match tomorra. Do et over an send et ta fact checkin. Ah doan wanna see et again tonight." The reporter took a stack of papers from Simon, covered in red ink, and ducked out of the room past her. Though he didn't look up from the box on his desk – Ginny remembered that they were called computers – Simon gestured for her to come in. "Saw ye on yer way," he said, with a toothy grin.

The last time she had seen him he had been in his Scottish tartans, so it was odd to see him now in a plain white Oxford and dark gray trousers, with a blue-green tie loosened round his neck. Ordinary and Muggle all the way. No one would ever suspect him of being a Wizarding clan chieftain's son, gifted with the ability to see the future before it happened.

"Palmer's en the canteen waitin fer us," Simon told her.

Ginny smiled sadly. "I should've guessed. Reckon he's already worn into you about hiding important information from me?"

Simon rolled his eyes and stood up, grabbing a sport coat draped over the back of his desk chair. "We've had that conversation a billion times a'ready," he complained. He started leading her out of the Football Department, told his assistant to "man the wheel in his absence," and escorted Ginny back to the lift. "Palmer knows ah cannae tell people everything ah See," Simon went on, once they were safe in the contained space of the lift. "You know the same."

"I do," Ginny admitted. "But tomorrow is it, my last chance to convince the Wizengamot that Draco can't be guilty. I suppose you already know what I did and where I've been today?"

"Yeah," Simon said, nodding. He rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. "Good girl. Just as ah knew ye would. That French bloke was a tough nut ta crack, but your brother es an ace diplomat, me cousin Nora tells me."

The lift opened onto the first floor, and Simon led her through a few hallways until they emerged in a cafeteria like the one at the Ministry. When Ginny mumbled that she didn't have any more Muggle money on her, Simon waved his hand and told her he'd pay. They got trays of food and found John seated near a window, looking down at the street beneath them. He greeted them both in his usual warm manner.

"Right," Simon said, after he'd drunk some of his coffee. "Ah know ef ah cut ye off ye'll get tetchy, so speak."

Ginny exchange a look with John. "I've found new evidence that casts doubt onto Yaxley's memory," she said, and she told them briefly what she had learned from Monsieur Chamonix, though of course it was mostly for John's benefit. "You told me once that you already knew the outcome of the trial, whether Draco would be sent to Azkaban or set free," she said to Simon. "I need to know what you've Seen."

"Draco is our housemate and friend, Kinky," John said quietly. "You've shared a roof with him for years. You've been there for him when he was depressed, shared in his triumphs, and he has done the same for you. Can you really sit back and do nothing to help him?"

"You told me before about Cassandra's Curse, and I understand all about that, but this is different," Ginny said. "I can't accept anything less than Draco going free, so I need to go at the Wizengamot with every weapon available to me. That includes you and what you know."

Simon had listened to them both stoically, not even attempting to interrupt. "Ah Saw this conversation," he said when they had done, "a thousand different versions of et, all at the same time. And ah still cannae think of anathin ta say that will really convince you." He heaved a sigh. "Ah wanna help him, God do ah want to. But me part es done. Me only role en this was as a protector, someone who would deliver Dragon Boy ta the woman o fire. Ah cannae say a word."

Beside him, John made a disgusted sound and pushed away his food.

"Bollocks to the prophesy!" Ginny burst out, unable to contain herself. "He needs all the support you can give him!"

"Ah've already given him all ah can," Simon said. His voice was light, but Ginny noticed how tightly he gripped his coffee cup. "With everything ah See," he continued, "even the smallest thing, ah have ta make a very, very difficult—" He snorted, cutting himself off. "Ah cannae even begin ta describe how hard et es ta make the decisions ah need ta make on a daily basis. Ah need ta ask meself, es this the best outcome for this event, or es there another? Ah need ta explore all the possible ends an look at all the possible means an decide which _one_ will be best en the long run. Then, once ah do, ah need ta ask meself a second question: can ah say anathin? Not do I, but can I? Will the tellin of et change what will happen?" He stretched his hands out to them, palms up, in a gesture of supplication. "Ah Saw what will happen ta Dragon Boy almost three months ago," he murmured. "Ah did what ah normally do, an ah came ta the conclusion that ah cannae say a word o what ah ken."

"But you have already," Ginny insisted. "That whole business with the 'spot of bother'—"

"When ah saw Ainsley at hospital," Simon said, nodding. "That alone was sommat ah could warn ye of, so o course ah jumped at the chance, even ef ah did doubt meself after the fact. But consider this: what else have ah helped ye with?"

Ginny leaned forward in her seat, mouth opening to list off all the things he had told her in the past.

And found there was nothing.

"Look how far ye've come without my help," Simon said, his voice hardening. "Dragon Boy's lucky ta have someone like you on his side."

"But the scrapbook—" John began.

"Draco remembered that wanker Death Eater without any help," Simon told him. "Ah knew Ginny would need et, the scrapbook, so ah merely sped up the process by havin you send et ta him earlier, so et'd be at the Ministry a'ready." He nibbled irritably at his thumbnail for a moment before glaring out at the rest of the cafeteria, and Ginny looked as well. Other _Guardian_ staffers sat around them, chatting and laughing on their breaks, thinking of nothing more life-altering than errands they had to run and leads they had to follow for their news stories.

"You," Simon said. Ginny felt the air tense, as though holding its breath. Now she knew how upset he truly was, for he was losing control of his temper and the magical essence was being affected; he was inching closer to entering the trance state he'd been in at St Mungo's. "Do you have any idea how much ah envy you?" he said to her, eyebrows drawn. "A fookin travel scrapbook! And there you are, standin up en front o the bloody Wizengamot—" He leaned forward in his seat. "Ah did no lie on the witness stand," he whispered to her, his dark eyes blazing. "Ah love Draco Malfoy like me own brother, an ef my life would save his, take et, ah give et freely. But no, ah have ta sit en me nice Muggle office and write up the bloody _football_ scores, and lie ta all our mates tellin em that he's en hospital with meningitis, while my best mate es rottin away en prison."

He flung himself back into his seat, and John put a hand on his shoulder. "Life es fookin unfair that way, Ginny," Simon spat. "But ah've accepted my burden, just as you've accepted yours. This es the way et es, love. Ahm sorry." He reached forward and grabbed one of her hands and one of John's. "Ahm sorry," he said again. "Ahm sorry."

"Then I move forward alone," Ginny said slowly. "I confront the Wizengamot by myself, with only what I already have."

"Et's you, love," Simon said. "You an Dragon boy against the world."

It was funny how this whole thing was really nothing different from before. To give herself time to think, Ginny took the Underground back to her flat rather than merely Apparating, and she mused that things had not changed. While in Hogwarts, she had had such big dreams. She would do big, important things and travel the world and make a difference. People would remember her, not as just another Weasley, but as Ginny Weasley, Witch Extraordinaire. Those dreams had seemed just out of her reach then, as if only a bit of effort and they would be fulfilled. As an Auror, before she realised just how unhappy her job made her, she had always told herself that the next case would be it, the one that defined her career, the next case, or the one after that.

Now here she was. Finally, seven years out of Hogwarts, she knew what she wanted. And yet again, it felt just out of her grasp.

For Ginny had noticed something worrying about the way Simon spoke. He claimed to know what would happen to Draco, and she had no reason not to believe that he did. Knowing the end of the story, so to speak, would however have affected his reactions and the way he talked, no matter how he tried to hide his knowledge. Ginny remembered that from her Auror classes; guilt was always evident in a person's tone, or on their face. It was next to impossible to conceal.

Ginny worried because the way Simon spoke, it sounded like she and Draco were going to lose their case.


	47. The Ridley Standard

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Forty-Six – The Ridley Standard**

**  
**Again, Ginny dreamed of being in court and defending Draco, losing him forever to a dank Azkaban cell, and again she was unable to fall sleep for the rest of the night. Her mind begged for relief and her body for rest, but all she did was toss and turn in her bed, until the sheets were tangled round her waist and legs. There was nothing for it. She was just too worked up to sleep.

So she worked on the case instead. She made copious notes and outlines to help her organise her final argument, and cross-referenced them with the court precedents she had looked up at the library with Hermione. Every now and then she would pull out the Muggle photo of Yaxley and just look at it, as though by staring at his image it would reveal all of the man's secrets.

She wanted whole-heartedly to believe that Percy's theory was incorrect, but it was impossible. Her mind told her that his version of events was equally likely, and actually even more likely than hers. She had seen it before, after all: there were some people who, when faced with the terrible consequences of their actions, were determined to bring as many people down with them as they could. The Auror Department had seen it with one of Riddle's minor supporters, a reclusive old pureblood wizard with no family who had not taken the Dark Mark, but had given much of his personal treasury in aid of the Death Eaters' cause. Once Danny O'Connell had tracked the man down and apprehended him, he had given the Aurors reams of information on how the Death Eaters had worked, how Riddle had run them, and an entire list of fellow financiers like himself. They had caught the Carrows as a direct result of the information he had given.

Odds were, Yaxley was doing the same here. It all fit. She just wished that it was different, that there was some loophole, somewhere, that she could pull Draco through and get him out of the bowels of the Ministry. When had he last seen sunshine? It had to be weeks now. When had he properly bathed last, or breathed fresh air? Active as he usually was, he was probably a miserable wreck in that tiny hole of a cell he was kept in, and now she started wondering about the food they fed him – did he go hungry? Was it even edible? What about that guard that was placed around him at all times; did he or she ever taunt him? What if it was a relative of someone who had been killed during the war, and they took the opportunity to deride and mock him for his involvement in the—

Ginny shook her head and blinked hard several times. _Focus_, she told herself. _Focus, focus, focus._

If Draco had killed Colin and Yaxley's memory was indeed real, then the only precedent Ginny could hope to use was one from the 1650s that she had found. _Stokely v. Skull Breakers _said that when murder and other violent acts were performed as a direct result of membership in an illegal cult – which the Death Eaters certainly qualified as – and when the membership was not completely voluntary – the Skull Breakers had used blackmail, brainwashing, and the odd Imperius to guide their members – the criminals were not to be treated in the same way as independent agents guilty of the same crimes. That was it. Yaxley was not insane, the memory had been retrieved in a completely lawful manner, and despite the initial issue of belligerent crowds, the entire trial had been run efficiently and by the book.

All she could hope for, then, if the memory were real, was to lessen Draco's sentence. Instead of life in Azkaban for murder, perhaps he would only get twenty years.

In frustration, Ginny shoved her kitchen table away from her, and its wooden legs scraped against the fake tile. She couldn't accept that. She couldn't. There had to be something else, some other case that even Hermione hadn't thought of that would help them and cast even more doubt onto the memory. She needed to go back to Diagon Alley, to the library.

The hours passed like millennia, as the sun came up over the rooftops of London and timidly crept into Ginny's messy flat, littered as it was with crumpled bits of parchment, her notes, discarded ink bottles, and broken quills. The Agrippa von Nettesheim Library opened at nine o'clock, so Ginny sent off a quick but vital owl message and was impatiently standing at the front door as the head librarian unlocked it at 9:02.

"Good morning," she said cheerily to Ginny as she opened the main doors.

"All right?" Ginny said distractedly, already moving past her. She requested a private research room and got it, and then started pulling masses of books off the shelves and carting them to the room to read and study and hope.

She used the guidelines Hermione had given her the last time to find relevant cases, then further pared them down by individual circumstances. She couldn't remember the last time she had done so much reading. Many times the tiny words on the pages in front of her blurred, and her eyes burned from the strength of the bright lights above her, but she kept on. Nothing would dissuade her from her quest now, not even her own physical limitations. She would not stop until she had done everything she could.

In the end, there were only two more cases she could use that would be helpful, but even those would not outright exonerate Draco. One precedent meant that she could have Yaxley testify again under Veritaserum – which was only helpful if his memory was, indeed, falsified. The other case was worth bringing up only as a matter of interest, for Ginny had been convinced that never in the Wizengamot's history had they ever tried anyone who couldn't remember their crimes. It turned out that in 1398 a witch called Aelfgifu the Arbitrary had claimed to not remember luring a Muggle boy into a deep pond where he would have drowned had his parents not discovered him. Her assertions of amnesia had lasted through the entire trial, and the Wizengamot had been about to give her a reduced sentence – instead of five years for Muggle baiting she would have received only three – until Aelfgifu accidentally gave up the game and revealed that she hadn't had amnesia at all; she had merely lied about it. Ginny was surprised that Hermione hadn't found such a relevant case during their earlier trip to the library, but then looked at the back of the book and saw that it had been checked out at the time.

Armed with her new research and anxious to present her findings, Ginny left the library and made her way back to the Ministry. William Harper's office was on the same floor as the Auror Department, and she decided to make her way to him first, once she had navigated around his secretary.

Who happened to be none other than Pansy Parkinson.

Pansy's face gave away nothing as Ginny stepped into the reception area of Harper's office suite. She was in many ways still the girl Ginny had despised at Hogwarts; Ginny could see that her chin was still held at a defiant, superior tilt. A wedding ring glinted on her left hand, and she recalled reading an item announcing that Pansy had married Theodore Nott a few years earlier. But her clothes were not the fine quality couture that they had been once, and Pansy's mere presence in a low-paying, low-status Ministry job meant that she had fallen on hard times the same as everyone else remotely associated with the losing side of the war.

"I need to speak to Counsellor Harper," Ginny said.

"He's not yet arrived," Pansy said, Ginny thought a bit coolly. "You're welcome to either wait or leave a message, which he'll respond to as soon as possible."

"I'll wait." Ginny took one of the few chairs scattered along the walls and settled with her files placed neatly on her lap.

Silence reigned for a good five minutes. Ginny watched as Pansy did her very best to ignore her, pretending to be busy with several long scrolls on her desk, making notes on a parchment scrap with a pristine eagle feather quill, and filing away a few bulky case files. But there was a slight tremor in Pansy's hands, and a self-consciousness about the way she moved about the reception area that told Ginny she knew about the elephant in the room.

Out of an unexpected impulse of mercy, Ginny was the one to break the awkward quiet. "He's telling the truth," she said. "He doesn't remember anything at all."

Pansy, who had been about to sip from her teacup, froze with her cup halfway to her mouth. She lowered it to her desk again and stared at it a moment before speaking. "Nothing?" she whispered. "Not even…me?"

"Nothing. No one."

Pansy nodded, seeming to take this in stride. She wouldn't look away from her cup. "Did he see his mother?"

"Yes, he did," Ginny said, "and Narcissa died not knowing about his amnesia. That's not to leave this room."

Pansy nodded again. "Was he happy, the past eight years?"

"As happy as he could be, I think," Ginny replied, "not knowing who he was. He has mates who love him dearly."

Pansy seemed about to argue that point, but she bit back whatever she was about to say. She was visibly at war with herself for a minute before her wrinkled brow smoothed out, and she was calm again.

"Thank you," she said, finally raising her eyes to Ginny's. Ginny stared back, not knowing quite what to say, until William Harper himself walked into the office a few moments later.

Harper was not as good as Pansy at hiding his reaction on seeing Ginny there. He started, hands pausing in the work of removing his outer robes, before collecting himself once more. "Miss Weasley," he said, "to what do I owe the honour?"

"Counsellor Harper," Ginny said evenly, coming to her feet. "I have new evidence in Draco Malfoy's case, which I am legally allowed to present to the Wizengamot according to the Henley Rule."

"You are," Harper said, an odd smile coming to his face, "but I don't understand why you would. Miss Weasley—"

"I am your counterpart for the defence," Ginny stated, arching an eyebrow, "and I would appreciate being addressed as such, _Counsellor_ Harper."

The odd smile didn't waver. "Of course," he said, with fake penitence. "My apologies. What I meant to say was that I believe the memory viewed in court yesterday is fairly indisputable. Mr Malfoy killed that poor child, and I fail to see how you can lessen his sentence unless you change his plea to guilty."

"My tactics and strategies are none of your concern," Ginny said. "All I need is for you to be present as I give over the new evidence."

"Very well, but I'll have to check my schedule to see when I'm free." He turned to Pansy. "Mrs Nott, was there anything on the agenda for this morning?"

"Nothing at all," Pansy said quickly, not even looking at the datebook on her desk. "You're free until noon, sir."

"Oh." Harper frowned, then shrugged. "Then it seems I have an appointment in the Wizengamot chambers. Hold my owls until I return." He hung up his outer robes on the coat stand by the door, and led the way out of the office. Before she left with him, Ginny turned back to Pansy and mouthed _Thank you_. Pansy watched them leave, her knuckles white on her desktop.

The Wizengamot, when deciding cases, deliberated in the lone conference room that was down by the courtrooms. It was all the way at the end of the long hallway. Ginny almost felt as though she could feel the entire Ministry heaped above her and, on top of that, the Muggle buildings that stood unknowingly above them. Two guards stood watch outside the room, perfectly silent as they approached. With them was a third wizard, younger than Harper, who looked as though he'd rather be out playing Quidditch than bothering with legal nonsense. This was of course Miles Bletchley, Yaxley's counsellor, whom Ginny vaguely remembered as the Slytherin Keeper during her Hogwarts days.

"Good, you got my owl," Ginny said by way of greeting.

"My client already was sentenced," Bletchley said sullenly. "Don't know why I have to be here."

Instead of answering, she turned to the guards. "I am the counsellor for the defence in the case of _Draco Malfoy v. Wizarding Britain_," she said formally. "I have new evidence and wish to present it to the Wizengamot."

"I am the counsellor for the prosecution in the aforesaid case," Harper said. "I am here to listen to what the defence has to say."

The guards looked at each other, then one slipped inside the room. In what felt like seconds, he returned and opened the doors for Ginny, Harper, and Bletchley to enter. They followed him inside.

The stadium seats in which they sat in the courtrooms had been replicated here, and Ginny looked up and around her at the Wizengamot courtiers stacked above her. Kingsley, just as in the courtrooms, was seated front and centre. Ginny concentrated on her breathing, feeling again that faint dizziness that had plagued her for the past few days.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," she said clearly, standing in the middle of the room. "I am aware that the trial has been recessed until sentencing, but I exercise my client's rights under the Henley Rule to present new information and evidence that has recently come to light."

Kingsley seemed surprised, as did Hiram Kincaid. "Very well," Kingsley said. "You may proceed."

"To do so will require both Messrs Malfoy and Yaxley present," she said. "I hope to prove to the Wizengamot that both of them knew more than they were letting on."

Kingsley made a gesture with his hand, and Ginny heard the guards leave the room again. Moments later, her heart gave an involuntary leap as Draco was escorted in, followed by Yaxley; each had two guards binding him with a number of spells. Draco was once again dressed in John's loaned three-piece suit, and he looked sharp and alert. The guards conjured chairs for them to sit in, and they did, in front of Kingsley.

Ginny bravely ploughed ahead. "I also ask that Mr Yaxley be given Veritaserum—"

"What?" Bletchley roared, coming awake.

"—according to _Ridley v. Wizarding Britain_," she went on, "which set the precedent that any convicted criminals who testify in related or similar trials may be considered untrustworthy. And frankly," she added, "I wouldn't trust Yaxley any farther than I could throw him."

"Yaxley wasn't found insane," one courtier pointed out.

"Damn right he wasn't found insane," Bletchley cried.

"But he is a convicted murderer and torturer," Ginny declared. "He finds satisfaction in the destruction of others. He has in this case, as the sole witness, the ability to destroy my client, and as such I believe this is grounds to enact the Ridley Standard."

Kingsley and the Wizengamot conferred briefly before seeing things exactly her way.

A Healer was summoned. To his credit, Yaxley didn't bat an eye as he accepted the drop of Veritaserum under his tongue. As soon as it had been administered, Ginny stood directly in front of him, arms clasped behind her back, unwilling to waste another moment.

"Did you last see Draco Malfoy at the Battle of Hogwarts?" she asked.

"No," Yaxley replied.

She had the Wizengamot's attention at once, and she knew it. "Did you see him six years ago in Paris?" she pressed.

"Yes," Yaxley said. He had a smirk on his face that unnerved her.

"Did you say your name was Ophiuchus Yaxley?"

"No."

"So you used a false name with someone who was the son of one of your close confederates?"

"Yes."

Ginny turned to Draco, who had since straightened in his seat. There was something brilliant and terrible sparkling in his eyes – she thought it might be hope. "Mr Malfoy," she said, "can you add further details to this meeting in Paris six years ago?"

"Yes," he said eagerly. "I was working as a line cook in Montmartre at the time, and this man to my left came to a café I frequented. He told me his name was Richards and that he was investing in a vineyard outside the city. We started talking about French cuisine and ended up dining out together every night for the next few weeks."

"When did your friendship end?"

"Shortly after I told him that I had suffered a dissociative fugue and could not remember anything earlier than November 1998."

Ginny went back to Yaxley, her heart hammering in her chest. "Was your learning of his amnesia the reason you left Paris?"

"Yes," Yaxley said.

Dear Merlin. This was it. She had to tread carefully from now on, while staying within the accepted boundaries of Veritaserum interrogation. "Did you leave because, without his memories of the Death Eaters and the war, Mr Malfoy was not of any use to you in your flight from the Ministry?"

"No," Yaxley said, grinning.

"Did you leave because you knew you could use this knowledge to your own advantage?"

"Yes."

Ginny stepped forward slightly to ask what she was sure would be the lynchpin question. "Is the memory you gave to the Wizengamot, showing him killing Colin Creevey, real?"

"I don't know," Yaxley replied. His grin never faltered.

Ginny reeled on her feet, his words striking her like a tangible thing. That was certainly not the answer she had expected. Or counted on. "You don't _know_?" she echoed.

"You heard him," Bletchley interrupted. "Mr Yaxley himself will tell you, as a former Healer – or perhaps the Healer present will be able to confirm this – it is perfectly possible for people to be unable to recall events exactly as they occurred."

"Chief Warlock," Ginny said, spinning to look at Kingsley, "I think this casts serious doubt on the memory we viewed yesterday in court. It is the only piece of evidence implicating Mr Malfoy in Creevey's death, but Mr Yaxley doesn't even know if it is real or not."

"Not quite," Kingsley said, frowning. "We also have Narcissa Malfoy's wand as the murder weapon. But Mr Yaxley, did you witness Draco Malfoy committing murder eight years ago?"

"I don't know," Yaxley repeated, grinning even more broadly.

"I need to bring to the Wizengamot's attention a fact that was discovered during my client's trial," Bletchley said, rolling his eyes. "My client is able to tell small lies while under the influence of Veritaserum. So this interview means absolutely nothing."

Ginny felt as though the weak little foundation she had built for her case was eroding before her very eyes. Of course she had seen the scattered reports coming through the Auror Department when she had still worked there – there had been a few, highly irregular cases where suspects had been able to tell less than the complete truth while under Veritaserum. The Aurors had been advised, however, that these cases were rare and that the odds were against them ever having to deal with the implications of this development.

So naturally the key witness in Draco's trial had to be one such person able to resist the strongest truth potion known to wizardkind.

"We have so many cases coming through here it's a wonder we're able to keep any of them straight," Kingsley grumbled as he shifted in his seat. "Mr Yaxley is resistant to Veritaserum, now I remember. What point were you trying to make exactly, Counsellor Weasley?"

It took Ginny a few moments to find her voice again, and when she spoke, it wasn't as strong and confident as it had been. "My point was that – I believed Mr Yaxley to have cause to wish to sabotage my client," she said. "I do not think my client capable of murder, as my character witness Simon Kincaid already mentioned during the trial. I think Mr Yaxley used Creevey's murder as a means to drag my client into Azkaban with him."

"We will take your theory into consideration," Kingsley said. "If there is nothing further to discuss...?"

"Yes," she said, regaining her momentum. "I want Yaxley's memory shown again. If he can lie under Veritaserum, then it's entirely possible he can falsify his own memories as well."

"An interesting point," Kingsley mused, "and one worth exploring, if the Wizengamot is willing?" The courtiers muttered to themselves, but no one challenged him.

The Visual-Eyes was brought in again, and the memory of Colin's death reinserted. This time, Ginny stood as close as she could to the white silk screen to watch it, determined to catch something off. There had to be something there she could use.

Again, they watched Draco's encounter with the Trio under Harry's Invisibilty Cloak. Again, they watched Yaxley bind Colin and encourage Draco to torture him. And that was when Ginny saw it.

"Wait!" she cried. The image on the screen froze in a haunting tableau: Yaxley grinning wickedly, Draco crying, and Colin in mid-motion on the floor, thrashing in pain.

"You see something, Counsellor Weasley?" Hiram Kincaid asked.

Ginny moved even closer to the screen, peering up at young Draco's giant face. "Look," she said, pointing. "Look at his eyes and the direction of his wand. Can it be rotated? Can we see it in three-dimensions?"

The Healer who had reinserted Yaxley's memory fiddled around with the Visual-Eyes, and the image slowly rotated on the screen until Draco's left side was to them. "Now lower the angle and pull out a bit," Ginny directed, and the Healer did so.

A surge of excitement went through her. "See here," she said, pointing up at the memory of Draco. "Look at my client, then look at Colin Creevey. Mr Malfoy is neither looking nor pointing his wand at Colin, and yet in this memory he is supposed to be torturing him. In fact—" Ginny studied the memory. "Mr Malfoy seems to be looking at the floor, and casting his torture spells on the floor, and not on Colin."

The Wizengamot had no reaction. Ginny had at least hoped they would be just as shocked as she was to find such a startling element in the memory. "The majority of this memory might very well be real," she pushed on, "but certain facts have been toyed with. Messrs Yaxley and Malfoy were present when Colin was murdered, as was Narcissa Malfoy's wand, but I believe Mr Yaxley did the killing himself. Mr Malfoy couldn't watch, and so he stared at the floor instead."

Still, there was nothing, no sound in the room, until Yaxley laughed richly. Bletchley glared at him until he shut up, but Yaxley continued to have an amused look on his face.

"These findings will be taken into consideration," Kingsley said. "If there is nothing else to present...?"

Ginny wordlessly shook her head. Kingsley gestured with his hand, and the guards stepped forward to remove Draco and Yaxley back to their holding cells.

Suddenly, Ginny, acting on sheer desperation and a vague kind of idea still only half-formed, blocked Yaxley's way. He was a large man, large enough to block her entire view of the Wizengamot, and a bolt of fear went down her spine. "You enjoy watching people suffer," she said. "That's not anything you can deny, Veritaserum or not. I've seen the pictures of what you've done to people and read the testimonies of witnesses and victims."

"What's going on here?" Bletchley said, looking around. "She can't badger my client like this—"

"That's why I became a Healer," Yaxley said with a toothy, sinister smile. "To have power over the vulnerable."

"Typical Death Eater response," Ginny spat. "And I reckon that keeping a son away from a father who loves him and has searched for him for years would tickle your fancy, wouldn't it? Putting Draco away for the rest of his life after his father and mother escaped that fate?"

Yaxley only laughed. Draco watched them with wide eyes.

"The prisoners need to be taken back to their cells," Kingsley said.

"Framing Draco with murder and preventing the happy family reunion smacks of something you'd do," Ginny went on over everyone. "You're about to go to Azkaban, where you can't manipulate people anymore, so you'd consider this a parting gift for yourself, knowing that you left one more family in despair." She moved nearer, shaking her head. "Give up," she said. "We caught you."

"My client was already tried!" Bletchley was complaining to Kingsley. "He was sentenced!"

"What you fail to realise, Counsellor Weasley," Yaxley replied, in an upper-class accent, "in your considerable lack of experience, is that humans are creatures of habit. I am captured, yes. But am I reformed?"

Yaxley leaned in, so close that she could see firsthand that he was not glassy-eyed. He was not insane. Only so coldly and maniacally brilliant that it seemed that way. "Am I reformed?" he repeated. "I should think not. I shan't quit till I do get buckled." He straightened. "But you surprise me, Counsellor Weasley. I had counted on everything save someone like you."

"That's enough," Kingsley barked, as Bletchley ran forward.

"Don't say another word," he snapped to Yaxley. "Idiot, don't dig your grave any deeper than it already is."

"Sure, boss," Yaxley said cheerfully. He let himself be led away by the guards, and Ginny let him go.

"Well, I don't know what you think you've accomplished here," Bletchley said petulantly to her. "Nothing, as far as I can see. The thing about Draco not looking at Colin was a weak point."

"If I wanted your opinion I would have asked for it," Ginny bit off. She stalked out of the conference room followed by Harper and Bletchley, and the guards shut the doors behind them, leaving the Wizengamot to return to their deliberations.

"I must agree with Counsellor Bletchley," Harper said as they made their way back down the corridor. "I was unaware of Mr Yaxley's ability to resist Veritaserum, but all the same, I do not see what today accomplished."

Ginny was very, very close to whipping out her wand and giving them both a good Bat Bogey Hex, but she restrained herself. Barely. "Gentlemen, I apologise for interrupting your morning," she said stiffly. "Counsellor Harper, I will see you tomorrow for the sentencing. Good day." With that, she spun on her heel and left them behind.

Only when she saw daylight did she allow herself to catch her breath. She leaned against the building beside the red phone box, taking deep breaths and struggling to calm her racing mind.

This was it, then. She had done everything she could.

Now they could only wait for tomorrow.


	48. Lights Out

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Forty-Seven – Lights Out**

**  
**A knock at her door startled her out of her contemplation at a little after seven that night. Ginny stirred and stood slowly, stiff after having been seated in one position for so long, and went to answer it.

"I thought you'd be here." Percy stood in the hall, arms folded across his chest. He brushed past her without waiting for an invitation to enter; Ginny shut the door behind him. Percy stopped when he saw the detritus littered across her sitting room. "Merlin, are you still looking at cases?"

She shrugged. "I wanted to be sure that I hadn't missed anything."

"There's nothing more you can do," Percy said crisply, pulling out his wand. With an expert flick of his wrist, the scattered papers and notes she had been reading all afternoon flew together into one neat bundle and jumped into his waiting arms. "I can't let you continue this," he went on, tucking the papers into his robes. "It's not healthy."

Ginny laughed mirthlessly. "And this is coming from the biggest workaholic that I know."

"Do as I say, not as I do," he said dryly.

"Well," she said, sitting down on her now cleared couch, "what do you propose I do? I need to do something or else I'll go mad worrying."

"Sleep," Percy said, sitting beside her.

"Besides that."

"Sleep," he said again, more insistently. "Just looking at you is making me tired, Gin. You've got dead nasty black circles under your eyes."

"Lovely, thanks," she said. She stood and went to her kitchen, Percy trailing behind her. "I can't sleep," she told him as she fetched two glasses for them. "When I sleep I have nightmares, and I can't bear them."

"Have you tried a potion?" he asked.

"The potion would only keep me asleep through the nightmares," she said, sighing. She pulled a bottle of pumpkin juice out of her fridge and poured for each of them. Percy thanked her quietly as he took his. "Believe me, I tried a Dreamless Sleeping Draught. My dreams were even more vivid that night than they were without it."

"That has been known to happen from time to time," Percy remarked thoughtfully. "I just spoke to Mum about an hour ago. She wanted to invite you and everyone over for supper tonight, but I told her you wouldn't be up to it. Mum's idea of distracting you was to stuff you with food and mindless conversation, and I didn't think that was what you needed."

Ginny heaved a sigh of relief. "Ta, no, it would've been awful. I'm afraid I'm not very good company for anyone at the moment."

"Sorry, that's not going to make me leave," Percy teased.

"What will?" Ginny blurted out.

Percy seemed so taken aback by her response that neither of them said anything for a long, uncomfortable pause. "I'm worried about what will happen to you afterwards," he said softly. "When people build things up in their minds, and give great importance to a single event, and let that event take over their every waking thought, they crash when it's over. They crash hard."

Ginny turned away, sipping at her juice, but Percy didn't stop. "You've been anticipating what's going to happen tomorrow for many weeks now," he went on. "When the Wizengamot sentences Malfoy tomorrow morning, what then? You could get really sick, Gin."

"Then you think he'll be found guilty," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"I didn't say that," he said. "Even if he's completely exonerated – which I need to say is very, very unlikely – you could become depressed. Think your life has lost meaning, that whole lot. And that worries me, Gin." He moved closer. "I went through it myself about two years ago," he said. "I had an important summit I was going to attend for the Minister, in Rome, and it was the kind of thing I'd been waiting to be asked to go to. A career-making step, a jump to the next level of the bureaucracy. Anyway, I built it up in my mind, spent hours preparing for my remarks, loaded this single event with so much more importance than it warranted – and I came down with mono immediately afterwards."

"I remember that," Ginny said absently. "George teased you about snogging Italian women."

"I don't want to see that happen to you," Percy finished, "especially since you've sacrificed your job and your health for this."

Ginny heard what he was saying, but she accepted and processed his words automatically without truly absorbing them. "You always worried about me more than the others," she said. "More than Ron, or Bill." She met his eyes. "You were the only one to notice I was off when I had Tom Riddle's diary. Why? Do you think me not strong enough to take care of myself?"

"On the contrary, Ginny," Percy said. He set down his juice and put his hands on her shoulders. "You were more independent than any of us. It's not that you aren't strong, it's that you sometimes take on too much. You don't know your own limitations."

Ginny let him hug her, and let herself savour it. He was right, of course. Percy usually was. "So if I can't sleep," she said, "and the sentencing is at nine o'clock tomorrow morning – what do I do until then?"

He released her. "Why are you asking me?" he said with a smile. "I just tried telling you what to do, remember? Didn't work. All I'll say is don't stay in your flat here and stew over the case. It really will drive you mad."

Percy left shortly afterwards, after trying again to tell her to sleep, and Ginny left her flat right after he Apparated away. For nearly an hour she wandered the streets round her building, the nearby Russell Square, the British Museum, aimlessly walking to keep her mind from any thought of any import. The fresh, cool night air bathed her face, and Ginny breathed it in.

She knew what she had to do.

Ginny found the nearest alley and ducked into it to Apparate to Earl's Court, and moments later she was on the familiar doorstep in Barkston Gardens, banging on the front door.

It opened at once. "Christ, et's aboot time ye showed up," Simon grumbled. "Ye should've been here hours ago. Supper's almost cold."

"I want to – I want to play video games with you," Ginny burst out. "Any games, I don't care which ones."

"Ah know," Simon said. He let her in and followed her into the living room, where John was sprawled on the couch watching a BBC news brief on the telly. Takeaway cartons sat on the table, and Ginny was unsurprised to see that they had ordered for her.

"We've been going mad as well," Simon said.

"Speak for yourself," John said tightly. "I think I passed that landmark ages ago. Tomorrow's the day, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," she replied.

"Chips?" Simon offered her an oily packet of slightly mashed chips. "When en doubt, eat." He paused as Ginny helped herself. "Though ah must say, ahd give up me firstborn child for some o Draco's New Orleans-style gumbo right about now."

"Or his crème brulee," John chimed in.

"The chicken tikka masala."

"His braised lamb is fabulous too."

"Salmon in maple and mustard seed sauce," Ginny whispered.

John whistled. "Is that what he made the night he cooked for you?" he asked. "Wow."

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he said, sitting up on the couch and grabbing some chips, "it's just that that's our house dish. Well, we call it that. He makes it for me and Kinky all the time, probably once a week, because the three of us love it so much."

_John tells me he could live off it._

Just like that she was back in the kitchen of Draco's restaurant, watching him at the stove as he made their dinner. His hair fell across his forehead, and he kept shaking it back. His orange flip-flops slapped gently against the tile floor, and he somehow managed to keep his chef tunic pristine and white.

Ginny's heart lurched, and before she could stop herself she began to tear up. "Shite, shite, shite," John muttered, scooting forward to take her hand and squeeze it. "I shouldn't have said that. Don't cry, Ginny."

"I won't," she said, wiping at her eyes. "I'm close, though."

"You're nae the only one," Simon muttered. "Come 'ead, ahll heat up your food."

They headed into the kitchen, where Simon placed her meal on a plate and stuck it into their microwave. "You know," she said abruptly, "Percy's been worried about me falling apart after Draco's sentencing – and I don't think he's right."

"How do ye ken tha?" Simon asked.

"At first I thought I was in denial, but I just spent almost an hour wandering about and I know I'm not." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded parchment she had received hours earlier. "This is from Oliver Wood, Captain and Keeper of the Kenmare Kestrels," she said, handing it to Simon. "He wrote me that he told his coach about my interest in playing professional Quidditch, and the coach can't wait to see my tryout. And..." Ginny inhaled sharply. "I'm excited about it," she whispered. "Really, really excited about it. Part of me feels I don't have the right to be, but – I am. I've wanted to play professionally since I was a little girl."

Simon skimmed over the letter before handing it back. "You should be excited," he said. "Ah know ah used ta dream aboot playin Chaser for the Wigtown Wanderers when ah was a lad."

"But Draco—"

"Draco has his own life, an et's separate from yours," Simon said. "Ef he's sent ta Azkaban, you aren goin with him."

"I think I realised that tonight," she said slowly. "This isn't one of those romance novels – I'm not going to die of a broken heart if he goes to Azkaban. I'll be devastated, I know I will be that," she added quickly. "I love him. I love him so much sometimes I can scarcely put it into words." She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. "It's just like in the prophecy, he completes me. He understands me, he makes me laugh..." She ducked her head, and Simon let her have a moment to gather herself again. "But life goes on!" she declared, looking at him. "I never could have imagined my brother George going on without Fred, but he did and he does every day. It's possible. If he can do it, I can as well."

Simon smiled fondly at her. "O course ye can," he murmured. "Ah've realised sommat meself over these few months we've known ye. You bein the woman o fire is more than just a reference ta the colour o your hair."

"But does that make me a bad person?" she worried. "You're his best mate, you and John are, and shouldn't you be telling me I'm being selfish and heartless?"

"Think of et this way," he said. "Ef Dragon boy's sittin en prison, d'ye think he wants you mopin an cryin an nae livin your life? Ta nae life your life would be an insult ta him, the worst possible. He'd never forgive you. Ah'd never forgive you meself."

Ginny sighed. "I would live my life," she said softly. "I would play Quidditch, and travel the world, and do what I've always dreamt of doing. But he would be with me every step of the way."

"O course he would," Simon said, just as the microwave finished heating her supper.

The night passed in a solemn, slow march, as the sky darkened to black and the moon came out. John and Simon taught her how to play the video games they had, and she had to hold back her reaction when she saw Draco's avatar in each of them, untouched for weeks. They played well into the night, until Simon was snoring quietly on his end of the sofa and John was nodding off.

"You're welcome to stay, if you don't think you can Apparate home," John said, blinking blearily at her.

"Thanks, John," she whispered, smiling at him.

"Kinky isn't going to the sentencing," he said, as he lay back on the sofa. "He wishes he could, but he can't handle seeing his father. He'll be at work. Promised to owl him as soon as I know."

"Then you'll be there?"

"Of course," John mumbled. His eyes had dropped closed. "Wouldn't miss it. Love that poor bastard."

Ginny watched them both sleep on the couch for a moment, her heart wrenching. Ten years ago, she never would have imagined that two such selfless men existed in the world, yet here they were: Simon, with his boundless love for all who crossed his path and his infectious sense of humour; John, with his patience, understanding, and devotion to helping others. Percy had worried about what would happen to her after Draco was sentenced, but what would happen to his two closest friends? They knew Draco even better than she did, better perhaps than anyone alive save Lucius. They had found him lost and alone, brought him unconditionally into their hearts, and shaped him into the man he was for seven long years.

They would have each other, she decided. The three of them would have to work together, to help the others through it. As they had been the past few weeks, they would do so into the future.

Ginny turned their video game off and switched to the news, keeping the volume low so John and Simon could sleep. She dozed lightly on and off, but her heart and mind kept flying back to Draco and the prospect of her Quidditch tryout, so full sleep was elusive. The three of them stayed there on the couch all night, until Simon awoke and mumbled something about going to the office and shuffled upstairs to take a shower. When he came down again, handsome in his Muggle business attire, he pulled Ginny into his arms for a hug and just held her.

"We'll send word to you the moment we know," she whispered in his ear.

"Ah know," he said. "Go in ta see him beforehand. You both need et."

"You read my mind," she joked weakly. Neither one of them laughed. Simon let her go and smiled sadly at her, before opening the front door and leaving the house. She heard him start up his car, and then he was gone.

Ginny waited until John was awake before she left, to go back to her flat to shower and change her clothes. Once she felt alive again, she made her way to the now-familiar red phone box and descended into the Ministry for the last time.

They bought her story of needing to speak to her client before his sentence was delivered. Everyone in the Wizarding world – and she knew this because she had bought a _Daily Prophet_ – believed Draco would be found guilty, so it was entirely plausible that Ginny would already be making plans to appeal the decision. It was a struggle to keep her breathing even as she descended to the holding cells, and awaited him in the interview room in which they had been locked up previously.

Seeing Draco again was a shock. He wasn't a mess, he didn't look tired, and he didn't look as though he had been crying. In fact, he looked perfectly calm: he was the picture of serenity. She was so distracted by seeing him looking so wonderful and beautiful that it took her a moment to remember what she had to do before the guards left.

"Excuse me," she said, just as one was about to cast a Tracking Spell on the bindings already keeping Draco in his chair. "I don't suppose I could trouble you for a glass of water?"

The guard-wizard shrugged. "That shouldn't be a pro—"

"Oh wait, never mind," Ginny said, with a forced laugh. She looked up at him through her thick dark eyelashes. "I don't want to be a bother."

"It's no bother, Counsellor," he said quickly.

"No, no, I couldn't keep you from your duties." She waved him away.

"If you're sure?"

"Yes, quite." Ginny made herself smile, and it made her mouth hurt. "Thanks very much."

Just as she had hoped, the guard forgot to place the Tracking Charm. They both left the room without casting it.

Draco waited before speaking, and until Ginny had removed and blocked all of the surveillance charms on the room. "I know this isn't the time or place," he said quietly, "but that was incredibly sexy."

Ginny blushed and shielded her face with one hand. "Serious? My flirting with other men is a turn on?"

"You did it for me," he said. "You distracted them so they wouldn't put that alarm spell, or whatever it is, on me." Draco chuckled, and his smile lit up his entire face. "I'm afraid I've always had a thing for women who take charge."

Ginny, who had waited so long to be alone with him again, could only blush further. She couldn't get enough of staring at him, drinking in the image of him before her while she still could.

"You remember the day we met?" Draco went on, still talking quietly. "That day in St James' Park. I was a bumbling idiot at rugby, because I thought you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, and you totally called me out on it. That was the moment I knew I fancied you."

"When you cooked for me, on our second date," Ginny murmured. "Watching you make our food yourself, with your own hands…" She choked up and couldn't finish. Instead, she pulled out her wand again and removed the Binding Charms from him. He was on his feet at once, and he had taken her hand and tugged her up into his arms.

Ginny lost it. The control she had so precariously maintained over herself for so long vanished, and tears flooded down her face and stained his clothes. She clung to him, her fists full of his shirt as though he too might vanish, and her sobs were muffled against his chest. "I can't lose you," she whispered. "Not when I've just found you."

"Shh, love," he said into her hair. "I've made peace with it."

"How can you?" she cried, pulling back to look at him. "How? I can't even bear the thought of you in that place—"

"Nothing happens that was not meant to," he said firmly. "I've accepted – reluctantly, yes, but I've accepted that this is what is meant to become of me. This is my fate." He kissed her forehead and held her against him. "The only thing that holds me back is knowing how upset you'll be."

"I'd say 'upset' is a minor understatement," she wailed.

"I want you to be happy," Draco said. "When I'm in Azkaban, I don't want you waiting for me to be released, if they decide they'll release me at all. I want you to find another man, who will love you as much as I do—"

"No, no," Ginny moaned, burying herself further in his chest.

"And I don't want you to live a life of regrets. Everyone deserves to be happy at least once in their lives." He kissed the crown of her head. "At least I had these two months with you. I had that much."

"How can you say that?" She looked up at him again. "How can you stand there and tell me to be with someone else like you don't even _care_—"

"I do care!" he roared, grabbing her head between his hands and threading his fingers through her hair. His eyes blazed in fury even as they glistened with unshed tears. "Don't you think I hate every word I'm saying right now? Do you think I enjoy the thought of some other man touching you and kissing you? It's murder, I can't – but I can't fight against it anymore." His anger faded, and he just stared at her. Ginny wrapped her arms round his waist and moved even closer, until there was no space left between them. "When I told you I loved you," Draco whispered, "after we spent – that amazing night together, I had never said those words to another person before. I meant it more than anything else I've ever – _ever_ said." His voice caught and he looked at the floor, seeming to collect himself. "You have gone above and beyond what I would ask of anyone, trying to save me. I can see the toll it's taken on you, and I want you to stop destroying yourself over me. I'm not worth it."

"Don't say that," Ginny said, sniffing. "I know I've said and done cruel things to you, but I meant it when I said that I loved you. Every time. You're worth it."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You look about to fall over, Ginny, and I won't let you do this to yourself."

"Draco—"

"No buts," he said, and a slight smile came to his face. "I'm in charge now, and I say you have to stop worrying about me."

"You forget," she said, smiling faintly back, "I'm a redhead. We're stubborn."

His smile faltered. "Oh hell," he muttered, and before she could speak again he had crushed his mouth against hers, kissing her with brute force. She tightened her arms around him, determined to never let go, and met him halfway, trying to show him that he wasworth it, that despite everything they had been through, everything she had said, all the lies – he was worth it.

"I love you, Draco," she whispered. The words brought fresh tears to her eyes. "I love you so much. Only you."

"I know," he whispered back, as he dragged his lips up the freckled column of her throat. "I doubted you once, but I never will again."

Some time later, Draco helped her dry her eyes and watched as she used a spell to erase any sign that she had wept. "Go eat something," he told her, as he rubbed her back, "before the sentencing."

"I'm not—"

"Don't care, not listening," he interrupted her. "Eat. Afterwards, go outside and get some fresh air. Only then will I allow you to come back to the courtroom."

"Oh, so you'll allow me, is that right?"

"I told you, I'm in charge now."

Ginny inhaled sharply. "I see what you're talking about," she murmured. "It is rather sexy for someone else to be in charge."

Draco's eyes darkened. He moved his hand from her back to her face, and Ginny stood very still as he ran the pad of his callused thumb over her cheek. He wet his lips as though to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he leaned in, slowly, slowly. Ginny tilted her face upwards until her nose brushed against his, and she could feel his breath scattering across her skin. She slid her hand up his chest and felt him tremble; he covered her hand with his.

"And once again I'm utterly at your mercy," he whispered, a hairsbreadth from her lips.

Their kiss, that last heartbreaking kiss, only made it harder to let go.

Draco was back in his bindings by the time the guards returned, and Ginny did exactly as he had asked of her once she left the bowels of the Ministry. She went directly to the canteen and bought the first thing she saw – a croissant – then took it outside to eat on a bench in a nearby square. The sun shone brilliantly as she choked down the tasteless bread, but once she had finished she felt a minor jolt of accomplishment. She had done as he'd asked. She'd been able to do that much for him.

When she returned to the Ministry she ran into Harry on his way into his office. "Well," he said, shifting on his feet. "Today's the day, yeah?"

"I'm sorry for the things I said to you," she told him. "They were out of anger and frustration."

Harry blinked, taken aback. "Don't worry about it."

"It was unprofessional of me and I'm sorry," Ginny said. "I won't be working for you again, but I just wanted to clear the air between us, since you and Ron are still mates and co-workers."

"Understandable," he said, nodding. "Er—would you like to grab some coffee before you go down to the courtroom?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I said I don't hate you, prat, not that I want to get back in your knickers. There's a difference."

She stalked off before he could recover and headed to the lift. Inside, she found half her family, coming down from the Auror Department.

"There she is, the star of the biggest criminal trial of the year," Ron said with a grin. Hermione stood beside him, and Percy and her father. "How do you feel?"

"Like hell," she admitted, and they chuckled. Hermione put her arm round Ginny's shoulders, and it stayed there until they reached their floor.

"No matter what happens," her father said, pulling her aside once they were off the lift, "know that we love you and are proud of everything you do, Gin-bug."

Ginny smiled up at him. "Thanks, Dad," she said, and she hugged him.

They made their way silently to the courtroom, where about half of the Wizengamot had already assembled in their rows of stadium seats. Lucius was there as well, sitting upright stiff as a poker, dressed in mourning black. Ginny left her family – for Molly had now come in as well, with George and Bill trailing behind – and went to sit at her seat at the defence table. John came in with the last few straggling courtiers, waving to her and ducking into a seat beside George.

Or no, he was beside Bill. Ginny blinked and shook her head. The rows of seats in front of her seemed to tilt at alarming angles, and they wouldn't stay in one place. Distantly she knew that they were supposed to do, but she couldn't figure out why the benches kept moving.

"Counsellor Weasley?"

Ginny blinked again, hard. Without her noticing, Kingsley had called the court to order and gone through the roll call. Harper was giving her an amused look. Ginny hastily stood, and waited for the world to stop spinning. "Yes, Chief Warlock?"

"I had asked if you had anything more to say to the Wizengamot regarding your client," Kingsley said, looking at her in concern. "Any closing remarks?"

Haltingly, Ginny brought up the case of Aelfgifu the Arbitrary, reminding the Wizengamot that whatever his crimes, her client could not remember them and therefore should not receive the full weight of punishment. At least, that was what she hoped she said; her words, once uttered, seemed to disappear from her memory.

"Very well," Kingsley said once she had done. "Counsellor Harper? Closing remarks?"

Ginny sat as Harper stood, and somewhere he must have been speaking but she couldn't hear it. All she could hear was the rushing of her blood, in her own ears, and the pounding of her own heart. Kingsley's voice echoed as though in a cave, and everyone in the stands turned as one to see someone – oh yes, Draco – enter the room. He was looking at her strangely.

"This court has listened to what the defence and the prosecution have had to say, regarding Draco Malfoy," Kingsley said, his words abruptly cutting through the static. Ginny jumped in her seat. "We have taken everything into consideration and deliberated on the fate of Mr Malfoy, and have come to a verdict. Will the counsellors for the defence and the prosecution please stand?"

Harper floated up beside her, and Ginny scrambled to do the same, heart pounding, breath coming fast. She stood too quickly. At once the world tilted to an even more frightening angle, and she felt like her head was a balloon, lifting off from her shoulders. Grey geometric clouds drifted into her view, obscuring everything, even the sound, surrounding her completely – only the worried echoes reached her, wherever she was.

The last thing she recognised was the cool slate floor against her cheek, then nothing more.

**A/N: **In lieu of sending death threats, please vist my lj (link is in my profile) to make a drabble request! -cb


	49. Breaking Up the Band

**A/N: **DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Compliant with all except Epilogue. Harry Potter is not mine. Thanks for sticking with me on this incredible ride! --cb

**Chapter Forty-Eight – Breaking Up the Band**

She was aware of warmth first, the warmth and softness of a well-worn bed that has been moulded to the shape of the sleeper. Her own, then. She turned onto her side and sank once more into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Later, she was still in her bed, but her limbs ached and were heavy, and the room was dark on the other side of her eyelids. Something pricked at the back of her mind, something she thought she should remember, but she was so tired, and her bed was so soft and inviting. There was nothing that couldn't wait for a few more hours' sleep. She turned onto her back and found a good position, and returned to oblivion.

The third time she was more awake than ever, but she remained with her eyes shut, perfectly still. She was in her own bed in her own flat; that was certain. A faint light hit her face, which meant either it was still only early morning or the curtains were closed.

Ginny opened her eyes.

She was in her pyjamas, her favourites: an old Harpies t-shirt that had seen better days, with trousers striped in orange and blue. The curtains were drawn, showing her that it was – was it morning? She turned and looked at her alarm clock, which read 6:18. That meant nothing. Was it day or night? Why had she been sleeping? What had she been doing that she felt so weak?

At once, she remembered. In a rush, bolting upright in bed, she remembered the trial, Draco, her family being there, John and Lucius watching her from the stands. But what had happened afterwards? Had there been a verdict? Oh, Merlin, why couldn't she remember it?

Ginny stifled a moan as a frantic thought occurred to her. Maybe it had all been a dream. One long, complicated dream. That would explain how she had mysteriously ended up in her own bed, and how there was no conclusion. Her breath started coming hard and fast. She hadn't found Draco at all; he was still missing, on the run from the Ministry, and wonderful Simon and John had been mere figments of her lonely imagination, and—

"Easy, love."

She looked up from her misery to see none other than John Palmer standing in the door to her bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe, one fist pressed to his forehead. He had a regretful look on his face.

"Kinky told me to put the calendar next to your bed so you'd see it," he said, gesturing. "But you didn't, did you?"

Ginny blinked and looked to her little bedside table. Sure enough, a calendar had been placed beside her clock. It was August, not June. It wasn't a dream. It had all happened. The relief that washed over her was infinite.

"Oh God, John," she breathed, as she sagged back into her pillows, "you can't imagine how terrified I was that – that I had never found Draco—"

"Kinky told me you would be," John said. He came in and sat on the edge of her bed. "He also said that I had to tell you that it's evening, not morning, and you've been asleep for more than twenty-four hours. This is the evening of the day following the end of the trial."

Ginny started, not sure she was hearing him correctly. "But – how is that possible?"

"After your mum and dad delivered you here and dressed you in pyjamas, they had a Healer give you potions to make you sleep and give you some nourishment." He shook his head. "You really don't know how awful you looked, do you? We were terrified that you would blow away with the next strong breeze, and that's almost what happened. You hadn't been sleeping or eating, had you?"

"Tell me what happened in court," she insisted.

"You looked blooming awful," he said again. "Kingsley asked for you and the other counsellor to stand as he read the verdict, and you did, but you wobbled a bit and fell to the floor in a dead faint. Your mum rushed right out of the stands to help you, shouting for a Healer."

"And Draco?"

"Draco was a right wreck," John said. "He kept pulling at his chains like he wanted to be the one carrying you out of the courtroom, not your dad."

"No, not that – what was the verdict? The sentence?" Ginny lunged forward and latched onto John's arm. "Where is Draco?"

John looked down at her bedspread. "Kinky said I wasn't to tell you yet," he said slowly.

"That's bollocks," she cried angrily. "You tell me where—"

"Now calm down," he soothed, completely unruffled. "Look, any tick of the clock now Kinky's going to ring me—" At that moment, something buzzed, and John reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew his vibrating mobile phone.

"All right? Yeah, she just woke up a minute ago," he said when he answered it. Ginny heard Simon's muffled response as John eyed her warily. "Are you sure? I mean – yeah. Yeah. I know." John snorted. "You usually are right, you bastard. Bonzer. We'll see you in a bit." He flipped it shut and looked at her. "What I said before, Ginny. Kinky says you aren't ready to know yet, and he does have a good reason. You let yourself get in a very bad way, and you need to eat a solid meal before you take any major shocks."

There it was. A major shock. Draco had been sent to Azkaban. Ginny swallowed back the tears that threatened to return, determined to wait until she heard the news officially.

"Then you'll tell me?" she demanded.

"Then we're going back to Earl's Court."

"And then you'll tell me where Draco is."

"Take a shower first," John said, standing, as Ginny got out of bed. "I'll make us something whilst you dress, I went out to Sainsbury's earlier and picked up a few things."

"John Palmer, if you dodge the question one more time—"

John held up one hand and placed the other over his heart. "Ginny Weasley," he said sincerely, "I promise that once we've arrived at the house you will learn everything. It's really killing me that I can't tell you right this moment, but I'm doing it for your health. For now, I'm making us something to eat."

It was enough, for the time being. "Something edible?" she said over her shoulder, as she headed to the loo.

"Cheeky. You're lucky I like you."

Ginny tried to laugh but found she couldn't. Her voice was still scratchy from disuse, but besides that, she simply didn't have the desire to laugh. Instead, she shut herself up in her loo and started the hot water running. Rather than turning on the shower head, she decided she would take a bath, and she filled the tub with sudsy, fragrant water and lit a few candles.

Her stomach grumbled noisily as she lay in the tub, but she ignored it. So this was life on the other side of Draco's sentence. Her face crumpled as tears rushed to her eyes, but she fought them back again and sank deeper, soaking her sore body in the hot water. Why was John here alone, and not with Simon? Why were her parents not here, after she had collapsed in public? Where were her brothers?

Where was Draco?

She cut her bath short by hastily washing her hair and scrubbing smelly soaps into her skin, then let the water drain out as she dried her long, curly red mane. It glowed romantically in the candlelight, so Ginny blew out the candles, glaring at them as though they had done her wrong.

When she came out into the kitchen, smelling something quite appetizing in the air, John turned to look at her and rolled his eyes. "No, not that," he said, looking at her jeans and plain green t-shirt. "Wear the purple dress. The one you bought at Top Shop last year that still has the tags on it."

"Were you rummaging through my drawers whilst I slept?" Ginny asked, startled.

"Don't shoot the messenger," he said, shrugging. "I'm only relaying what Kinky told me to say."

"Meddling prat," she mumbled as she returned to her room to change. She found the dress in question – John was right, she had never worn it – and cut the tags off and put it on.

Before she returned to the kitchen, though, Ginny looked at herself in the mirror. _Oh, bother_, she thought, eyeing her reflection critically. They had all been right: she looked positively peaky. Ginny reached for her makeup bag on the dresser and took it into the loo to do her face, to hide some of the black crescents that hung under her eyes and put some colour back in her skin. She wondered why she was putting so much effort into her appearance, but she decided that any sort of distraction was good for her right at the moment. By the time she went back to John, Ginny thought she looked significantly better.

John agreed. "Excellent," he said in approval. "And now you eat." He had made them a delicious pasta, with bits of tuna and mozzarella cheese and vegetables mixed in. At her look, John chuckled. "Don't be so shocked," he said. "Just because Draco's a professional chef doesn't mean he's the only one who can cook in our house."

Ginny wolfed down her portion, and let John keep serving her more until she was pleasantly full. She watched as he withdrew his wand again from thin air and sent all of their dirty dishes into the sink, where they started washing themselves.

"I love magic," he sighed.

"Come on, now, John," Ginny said, leaning forward. "Really, what's going on?"

"What's going on is we're heading back to mine," he said, standing, "and then you'll find out everything, as promised. Are you ready? I'll Apparate us, if you don't mind grabbing onto my arm."

Frustrated, Ginny made sure her own wand was tucked inside her dress, then threaded her arm through John's. He made a violent swish with his wand, Ginny exhaled, and they were no longer in her kitchen but in the little alley near Barkston Gardens that she always used, to avoid having Muggles see her pop out of nowhere. The evening sky was drab and featureless above them, the same uniform shade of dark grey. The air was warm but damp. Ginny looked up as she followed John to their townhouse, wondering if and almost hoping it would rain. It seemed fitting that way, that the entire city should mourn her loss with her.

But as they stepped onto the front stoop and John fished out his keys, Ginny frowned. Every light in the house was on, glowing cheerfully out into the gloom, but not a sound escaped. Next door she could hear two boys loudly playing some video game, but meanwhile, the house in front of her was silent. Her heart sank. Her hands shook. She had seen her father's newest car project – a Ford Zephyr – parked at the kerb with Simon's shiny Peugeot. They had decided to break the news to her as a unit, en masse, so that they would all be there to support her as she mourned—

John finally found the right key and raised his head. "Brace yourself," he said, and he unlocked the front door.

At once, they were blasted by the sound of loud music pouring from the speakers in the living room, and John had to shout, "We're here!" to be heard. Curiously, the mood was not sombre at all – but more like a party. Ginny saw down the hallway to the kitchen and George was standing there, holding a drink in one hand. He was talking to a man she didn't know.

"Come in," John said with a jerk of his head. She found she was still on the step. Ginny entered the house and he closed the door behind her.

Then she noticed the handmade banner tied to the banister in the foyer.

_Welcome home Ben!_ it read.

Ginny's heart leapt into her throat, and she struggled to take in a breath. John left her side, still shouting to be heard over the music, and then someone came to the kitchen doorway. Another person she didn't recognise, with curly strawberry blond hair.

He gave a hearty laugh. "Oi, Hamilton!" he shouted back into the kitchen. "Your lady love has finally arrived!"

The stranger moved aside to make room for someone else to enter the foyer.

_Draco_.

Ginny didn't hesitate more than a split second before she barrelled across the room and leapt into Draco's arms. Draco held her so tightly he lifted her clear off the floor, leaving her feet to dangle in midair as he spun her around.

"Oh, thank God," he was muttering into her hair, "you're all right, you're all right."

"I thought you'd be halfway to Azkaban by now," she breathed.

"Shh, there's Muggles here," he warned, then he pulled away. For the first time, Ginny noticed that he'd had a haircut, at last, and was shaved and freshly showered and wearing clean clothes. He looked wonderful. No, he looked phenomenal.

And he was here. In his own house, in her arms. Not in Azkaban.

"You look absolutely incredible, love," he said, his eyes scanning her head to foot.

"I – so do you," she said, her mind still spinning. She couldn't stop running her hands up and down his arms, down his chest, as though to confirm that he was really here, solid, real, standing in front of her. Draco took both her hands in his and kissed them.

"Hell, you'd think they hadn't seen each other in a month," the stranger said to John with a laugh. "I think whatever recovery Ben has yet to do will be quick in coming."

"I agree," John said, giving Ginny a look. Right. The Muggles thought Draco had been in hospital with meningitis. That was why she couldn't mention anything about the trial or Azkaban. "But Ben's lucky to even be alive."

"I don't know if you remember me," the stranger said to Ginny, offering his hand to shake. "I was there at the park the day you and Ben met. Cillian Moreau. I've known these wankers for years and still haven't been scared off."

"Ginny, pleasure," she said, shaking his hand and holding Draco's with the other.

Cillian grinned at them. "We all missed His Highness the Thin White Duke," he said. "We were just talking about when Ben will be ready to hit the rugby pitch again."

"I told you, I'm still weak from being in bed for weeks on end," Draco said. "But I'll be ready in no time, you'll see."

"Here, let me get you a bitter," John said to her. "You drink Guinness, yeah?"

"A Guinness would be lovely, thanks," she said. John and Cillian both headed into the kitchen, and as soon as they had gone, Draco pulled Ginny into his arms and hugged her again.

"I'm still so confused," she whispered, touching the side of his face, "I woke up an hour ago and thought I would never see you again, I need to know what happened after I fainted—"

"You will," he assured her, brushing her hair from her face. "We have time."

Ginny's breath hitched. "Yes, we do," she said. "We do have time. All the time in the world."

Draco grinned at her, that silly, goofy grin that she adored more than anything else. It had been too long since she had last seen it. She could do nothing but grin in return.

They eventually made their way into the kitchen, where Molly fussed over her and made sure she was all right without arousing the suspicion of Draco, Simon, and John's Muggle friends. Arthur and Ron just smiled and hugged her, and to her surprise, Ron even shook Draco's hand. Simon was holding court in the kitchen, mixing cocktails and telling wild stories with elaborate hand gestures, but he paused briefly to give Ginny a cheery, "Hallo there!" from across the room.

"You scheming bastard!" she cried, not unkindly.

"Did ye expect nae less from me?" he asked as she worked her way across the kitchen.

"You had me convinced we would lose the case," she said, throwing her arms around him.

"Ah had ta," Simon said. "Spurred ye on ta win, didn't et? But bloody hell were there times ah just wanted ta give up an tell ye he'd be all right."

"Thank you," she said in his ear. "For everything."

"Of course," Draco complained as he joined them, "on our first date he gets to snog you first, and now that I'm out of hospital, you run right into his arms. I see how it is."

Ginny released herself from Simon and gave Draco a wicked look. Before she could start to tease him, however, Simon said, "Ah told her how brilliant ah am, an she did nae believe a word. Me! Aren't ah amazing?" he asked of the closest person to him.

"Amazing at making cocktails," the friend said, raising his drink.

"The problem was she met you first," Simon said to Draco, "an now there's no one else for her."

Draco grinned sadly and reached out to hug him. "Thanks for looking after her for me, Kinky," he said sincerely. "Now hands off so I can say hello properly."

With that, Draco took Ginny into his arms, bent over, and kissed her thoroughly, while his mates all cheered him on.

From that point on, Ginny never broke contact with Draco; there was never a moment when they weren't touching. When they stood in the kitchen discussing the West Ham Football Club with some of the others – Mark and Tim, she remembered their names were – Draco had one hand at her waist, and Ginny leaned back against his chest. When they talked to Simon and George about Simon's ideas for Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, Ginny had her arm round Draco, and he had one draped over her shoulders. It was absolutely wonderful to see how animated George became in Simon's company, and it was clear that Simon knew more than a little about how to run a business. George even laughed as Simon brought up a product idea, so hard he was gripping his sides. The sound, so unusual since Fred's passing, brought tears to Ginny's eyes.

"Oi, Ben!" Simon abruptly called across the room at one point. "Et's your song!"

Ginny paused to listen to the music still blasting over the speakers, while beside her Draco laughed. "The lyrics are all wrong, though!" Draco called back. "I fought the law and _I _won!"

"Hear, hear!" a few of his mates cried, without really knowing what they were cheering for.

When her mother came over to them, Draco kissed Ginny's forehead and murmured, "I'll get us fresh drinks," before leaving her side. Ginny was immediately bereft of his presence and anxious for his return.

"Well, you look a sight better than you did yesterday," Molly said, hands on her hips. "You know I hate it when you scare me like that."

"I was stupid, I'll admit," Ginny said, blushing. "You know how I am sometimes."

"Yes I do, because I was the same way," Molly said with a wink. She took Ginny's face in her hands and gave her a kiss on each cheek. "Ginny dear, I'm so proud of you. Are you going to keep working as a solicitor, do you think? I know they make very good money, and the best ones can take very nice holidays—"

"I'm retiring after this case," Ginny said. "I'd like to keep my success rate at one hundred percent. No, actually, Mum, I'm going to try out for a Quidditch team."

"Quidditch!" Molly cried. Ginny wondered at her speaking so freely, until she saw that only one of the Muggles remained. As the evening had worn on, she'd noticed people trickling out, starting early on with Ron, Hermione, and Bill, who needed to return to their children. Only her parents and Cillian Moreau remained.

"Quidditch!" Molly said again. "Here I was thinking you'd take a safer job, one where you could easily leave to someday start a family, and I find you want to play Quidditch! Ginevra Molly Weasley, you are going to be the death of me."

Ginny sighed. Now she was positive that everything really was as it had been before.

A few minutes had gone by before she noticed Draco had still not returned with drinks. On scanning the kitchen and living room, he was nowhere to be found. "Where did he go?" she asked Simon.

"Needed fresh air," he told her. "Been very claustrophobic this past day or so. Understandable, bein cooped up en tha little cell o his."

"I need to know what happened yesterday," she said to him, and to John as he joined them. "Nothing has been explained to me yet."

Simon and John looked at each other, and John muttered, "I'll see Cillian off," before ducking away. Molly and Arthur came over to say their own goodbyes, as it was already fast approaching midnight. Soon it was just the three of them, alone in the kitchen.

"You fainted," John began bluntly, "and there was total uproar in the courtroom. I told you your mum went right to you, and Draco was shouting his head off about getting a doctor. Even Draco's dad, that scary bloke in black, looked shocked to see you go down. So everything came to a halt until they brought in a Healer and your dad carried you out of the courtroom to be taken care of. Draco was a mess, not even paying attention to the Wizengamot as the Chief Warlock brought everyone back to order.

"He had Harper stand again," John went on, "and since you were 'incapacitated,' one of your brothers stood up to represent Draco in your stead – er, the one with the ponytail?" he said delicately.

"Bill," Ginny said with a nod.

"Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, so the Chief Warlock said that on further study of Yaxley's memory its authenticity was in doubt, plus you had raised serious questions when you reminded them that he was able to lie under Veritaserum. If that was possible, they reasoned, wouldn't it also be possible that he could forge memories? And you'd given them cause to think that Yaxley had a motive to frame Draco with murder, especially with those off-hand comments he made. Actually," John interjected, "one of the things you told us he said sounded familiar, so I Googled it."

"What?" Ginny asked, frowning.

"I did some research," John amended. "And you know what? 'I shan't quit ripping till I do get buckled' was a quote from one of the Jack the Ripper letters, this Victorian-era serial murderer who was never caught. So Yaxley's entire testimony was thrown out and the charge dismissed because of a lack of solid evidence." John leaned against the workspace and folded his arms. "I really think it was the lack of spectators that did it," he told them. "Without them screeching down the court's backs, they were able to see clearly that Draco was merely a victim of circumstance, not a criminal."

"Oh thank Merlin," Ginny breathed. "But what about his mother's wand? It was obviously the murder weapon."

"They've reopened Yaxley's case," John said. "They're going to try him for killing that boy, since someone speculated that he could easily have forged his memory if in fact he was there when the kid was killed. They think Yaxley did it himself, since no one else is present in the memory."

"I always thought that," Ginny insisted, "right from the beginning."

"They also decided to treat Draco as a minor for the other things he did, like with that necklace," John said. "That was due to his dad's testimony, and Kinky's, because of what he said about Draco not having the stones to out and out kill someone. For that, and taking into consideration his amnesia and what they called his 'new attitude,' they decided that Draco will be on heavily supervised probation for the next three to five years, to monitor his activities and be sure he has no 'evil tendencies' as he re-enters Wizarding society." John rolled his eyes. "As if Draco were a threat to anyone. Even better, the liaison assigned to him is someone Kinky knows from childhood."

"Closet blood purity fiend," Simon said, vigorously nodding his head. "He thinks purebloods shit gold an piss rainbows. Dragon boy es perfectly safe en his hands."

"Then that's it?" Ginny said. "He has to meet with a liaison for the next few years?"

"That's it," John said, smiling. "You did it, Ginny. You saved our mate."

"Now hang on a mo, tha's nae all tha happened," Simon interjected. "Tell her aboot what happened after they undid Dragon boy's chains and let him go."

"Oh." John blushed furiously, and scuffed his shoe on the floor. "She doesn't need to hear that—"

"Gin love, you really need ta hear this," Simon told her with a grin.

"Well…" John huffed. "Draco stood up and was rubbing his wrists, after they freed him from the chains?" he continued reluctantly. "And Harry Potter, who was up in the stands near me, marches down from his seat and goes up to Draco and starts sniping at him. Just being a right little drongo, if you ask me," John added darkly. "He said some nasty things about appealing the decision and bringing Draco back to trial, this time to be sure he gets locked up in Azkaban for good. I heard it all. And I… might've shut him up."

"John Palmer, why so modest?" Simon said with a laugh. "Gin, this boyo hears Potter talkin trash, right after our best mate has just been freed, and he completely loses his temper! For the first time in bloody five years!" Simon shook his head. "Ach, ah would've paid good money ta see et!"

"Get on," John complained.

"Johnny here whips out his wand like a bloody _superhero,_ an hexes Harry clear ento next Tuesday!" Simon finished grandly.

"I would've paid money to see that as well," Ginny said, laughing.

"I don't usually like being angry," John admitted. He gave them both a conspiring look. "But I think Harry was asking for it, honestly."

"Et even got Johnny deported!" Simon said proudly.

"Wait, what?" Ginny stared at John, eyes wide. "No!"

"Well, I did hex the most famous wizard in Europe in front of the entire judicial body of the British Isles," John said with a shrug. "And when they found out I wasn't a citizen, no less than Simon's dear old dad told me there'd be a hearing. He might as well have told me then and there I'm being shipped out. But it's time anyway. I rang my parents this morning to tell them that we can head back to Perth as soon as they're ready."

"But – London is your home now," Ginny insisted, "we're all here, your friends—"

"Australia is my home," John said gently. "Always has been, always will be. I belong there, just as you belong here, in the UK. A day hasn't gone by in the past eight years when I haven't missed Perth. It's time for me to go back." He sighed and looked away, and when he looked back his eyes were slightly shinier than usual. "But it's been quite a walkabout, that's for sure," he murmured, smiling at them both.

"No, wait," Ginny said, thinking quickly. "The prophecy hasn't been completely fulfilled. You can't go yet."

John raised his eyebrows. "Er, I'm pretty sure it has been," he said slowly.

"No, the part at the end, the last line," she said, trying to remember it. "_His only chance for salvation, for the salvation of all. _I mean, I've kept him out of prison, which is his salvation I suppose, but what about the 'salvation of all' bit, hm?"

"Tha's easy," Simon said. "Et just means that Dragon boy's meant ta do sommat important. Or," he added, with a broad wink, "one o his sprog."

Ginny gulped and rested a hand on her stomach, but just as quickly Simon batted it away.

"You're nae preggers ef tha's what you're thinkin," he cried, sounding completely scandalised. "Bugger all, Gin, ef Dragon boy saw ye rubbin your belly like tha he'd just aboot have a stroke!"

"Prophecies aren't stronger than birth control," John said with a snort.

"No time for tha anyway," Simon said brusquely, hustling Ginny out of the kitchen. "Ah cannae imagine what you're still doin here with us dodgy characters."

"Draco—"

"Es up on the roof," Simon finished. He took one arm, John took the other, and they frog marched her out to the foot of the stairs. "Go up ta the third floor, ta the door across from my darkroom. A spiral staircase goes right up. He's waitin."

Ginny smiled brilliantly at them both, before taking the stairs two at a time in her haste to reach the roof.

The air was warm and drowsy when she opened the door and stepped out, and the heavy midnight sky was completely starless, only illuminated by the lights of London. The narrow bit of roof that belonged to the trio had been decorated like a patio, complete with outdoor sofas and chairs, a table, and a small grill. They were all covered now with a fine layer of moisture, as a light, noiseless rain had begun to fall.

Draco stood near the edge, looking out at the street below. Ginny joined him there, and he turned to put both arms around her and heave a giant sigh.

"It's all over," he said. "It's done."

"No," she said, "it's just beginning."

Draco grinned. "You know what, you're right." He chuckled and kissed her near the temple. "I had the most amazing conversation with my dad yesterday, after the trial," he said excitedly. "I mean, the first time I saw him I was almost pissing myself I was so scared, but I can see now it's just a front. I was exactly like that when I first came out of my fugue state, very cold and distant. We had the most – it was a bloody unbelievable talk, Ginny. He wants to tell me about my mum and the rest of my family, show me the grounds of Malfoy Manor – I'm really going to inheritall that," he added in obvious disbelief. "He said he wants to do anything he can to help me regain my memory, no matter how long it takes. Oh! And he said I'm only twenty-six years old!" Draco shook his head. "I feel like I've gone back in time or something. The lads love that, since we always thought I was the oldest and now I'm the baby. But Dad's also going to show me around to the people I used to know, get my wand back, hire a tutor to help me learn magic again…"

As Ginny listened to him go on about his re-entry into Wizarding society, her heart began to sink lower and lower. Bringing Draco back to the world in which he belonged would not be as simple as him moving his possessions into Malfoy Manor. It would require a lot out of him, a great deal of energy. Having her around would only slow his progress. She had been here before, when Harry broke up with her before setting off on his search for the Horcruxes.

"Isn't that incredible?" Draco asked when he had done.

"Wonderful," she said, stepping back. She fiddled with the bodice of her dress, and Draco frowned at her.

"All right, let's have it," he said, folding his arms.

Ginny looked up and met his eyes, his beautiful silver eyes. "Draco," she began, "you have a lot of hard work in front of you, a lot of – long days and short nights. Discovering your past and embracing your old life will require your full attention, and so—" Her voice hitched slightly, but she ploughed on. "I will understand completely if you wish to give us a break. Temporary, of course, if you like."

Draco stared at her for a tense moment, one in which his face betrayed no emotion. Then: "Oh bloody hell, Ginny," he burst out, laughing hysterically. "You really had me going there for a minute, you know," he said, pulling her back into his arms and squeezing her against him. "What utter rubbish."

"It's not rubbish," she said, her voice muffled into his jumper. "I don't want to impede anything—"

"Ginny." Draco looked down at her, now very serious. "It _is_ rubbish. All that stuff I just mentioned, all the things I need to do? It's nothing to me without you. I don't want any of it if it means I have to give you up. And look," he went on, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "I was going to save this for a special occasion or whatever, but – I got a new memory yesterday, and it was of you."

Ginny gaped. "What?"

"I'm positive it's you," he reiterated. "I'm sitting in some kind of box – stands or benches or something – high up in the air, and watching about twenty people flying around in the air."

Inexplicably, her heart rate picked up. "On broomsticks?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Ah, so that's what they are. Half are in red and the other half are in yellow uniforms."

"Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," she murmured, her heart full, burying her face against his chest. He put one hand in her hair and stroked it while he continued.

"I'm watching them toss a ball around," he muttered in her ear, "and then, very close, I see a girl with bright red hair zooming past me." He snorted. "I feel more than a bit pervy about it, since you can't be more than fifteen. But, I don't know, I just felt this sort of _rightness_ when I realised it was you."

"It's called Quidditch," she said, lifting her chin to look at him. "You used to play as well. You were brilliant at it, actually. I'll teach it to you."

"Teach me to fly again?" Draco said, smirking. "Haven't you already?"

Ginny giggled. "Charmer. And how many birds has that line gotten you into bed with?"

"Hopefully just the one," he murmured, before closing the distance between them.

He had a blanket he had stowed away, and they ended up on the patio sofa underneath it, fumbling like teenagers with the buttons and zippers on their clothes. It was still drizzling out, and when Ginny fell back onto the damp sofa cushions, completely naked, she pointed out, "I'm going to get soaking wet."

"That's the general idea, love," Draco growled hungrily.

His body moved surely above hers, ivory pale in the little light that reached them, and his hair and the rain sprinkled tiny droplets onto her neck and breasts. He made a point of licking them off, slowly, and Ginny shuddered at the electrifying contrast between the cool rain and his hot tongue. They both glistened, their skin slick and wet as they slid against each other. Ginny thought they looked like pagan gods. She must have spoken the thought aloud, for he bent and whispered teasingly into her ear, "That's all right, you can just call me Draco," as he entered her.

They never could see stars in the night sky over London. The city lights, the smoke, the clouds, they were too concealing, and the distant stars were rarely able to seep through to the bustling streets below. But that night, Ginny would've sworn there were millions of stars, billions, filling every corner of the universe and illuminating the world. Draco had hung them there.

When she awoke the next morning they were in his bed, safe and dry inside the house, with the sun shining through his windows. He was stretched out next to her, one leg tucked between hers, and he had propped his head up on his arm to look at her.

On seeing her awaken, he leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Good morning," he said.

And Ginny knew it really was.


End file.
